


Sorry, Not Sorry

by DrowningByDegrees-Art (DrowningByDegrees), SoftObsidian74, The_She_Devil



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bucky Barnes Is Not Your Damsel, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky ain’t scared of no super-serum, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Disabled!Bucky, Drug Use, Enemies to Lovers, Gallows Humor, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Homelessness, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Meet-Ugly, Metal Arm Kink, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Oral Sex, Overdosing, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Shrunkyclunks, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Suicide, Switching, Veterans Affairs politics, Veterans Affairs protests, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, competent!Bucky, physical assault, probably should be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees-Art, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_She_Devil/pseuds/The_She_Devil
Summary: All Steve Rogers ever wanted was to do what's right. So when he drops in to volunteer at the Brooklyn VA Outpatient Center, he’s surprised to learn some veterans actually resent Captain America and everything he represents. One veteran in particular is determined to make sure Steve understands just how much he dislikes him.





	1. Middle Fingers Up

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of love and huge thanks to the following people:  
> 1) My collaborators. I was fortunate to have two awesome friends offer to do art for this fic, [The_She_Devil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_She_Devil/pseuds/The_She_Devil) and [DrowningByDegrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees). Their artwork will be featured in later chapters.  
> 2) My friend, alpha reader, and beta reader [743ish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/743ish/pseuds/743ish) for her great advice, encouragement, and patient ear throughout the writing process.  
> 3) My new friends [Dreadnought](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreadnought/pseuds/Dreadnought) and Nonush. Dreadnought was kind enough to offer amazing counsel and wisdom on the subject of veterans and the VA, and beta as well. Nonush generously offered to tidy up whatever errors I caused as a result of last minute editing.  
> 4) My slack crew who give me daily affirmation, feedback, and encouragement. Thanks for pushing me. 
> 
>  
> 
>  **For Readers:** I have tried to be as accurate and sensitive about this subject matter as possible. However, I am not a veteran nor have I ever used VA services, so if you read something that seems out of wack or needs to be tagged, please let me know. For those who are interested, there will be more notes about this topic at the end of this chapter and in the next chapter.

****

Spring in New York is supposed to be fun. From the blossom of the trees and flowers that no longer threaten Steve’s breathing to the numerous street fairs and outdoor farmer markets, spring in New York should be a relief from the long, cold winter.

But so far, this spring has offered no respite. It’s been a tough month. A terrorist attack along the Hudson bike path, followed by another alien invasion that cost the city too many lives and damages. Steve can see the toll it’s taking in the faces of strangers in the street. Hope never dies, but it’s struggling to live in a city beat down week after week by some tragedy or attack. 

Even with all of his strength, power, and speed, and a team of elite operatives, Steve still can’t bring peace to New York City. Sometimes he wonders what he really gave up when he chose to take the serum, and what he’s doing here. 

When he gets too melancholy and needs to get out of his head, he forces himself outside of his Brooklyn Heights brownstone to see and be seen by the people he’s come to regard as friends: his neighborhood barber, Patrick; the local elderly baker couple, Mr. and Mrs. Friedhoff; his ever optimistic mail lady LaShonda; the sweet pimply-faced Starbucks barista, Terri. 

But today, it’s not enough. He’s got a real bad case of the blues with a healthy side portion of guilt. The latest collateral damage the Avengers caused during a battle in East Harlem makes a mockery out of all the good they’ve done. 

He calls Sam, who always has a way to break up Steve’s pity party. 

Sam answers the phone full of energy. “Hey man, what’s up?” 

“Need any help up there?” Steve asks.

“Actually, no. We have a full roster of volunteers today. And we’re in the middle of an orientation for the new folks, so…”

“I’d probably be a distraction,” Steve says glumly.

“Probably,” Sam says, a smile in his voice. “What’s wrong? You feeling guilty again?”

Steve grunts, and Sam chuckles. Steve kind of wants to hang up on him, but he knows this is the best sort of medicine. Sam always shakes him out of it. Well, usually.

“You do know there’s more than one VA in town, right? In fact…uh-huh, there’s one in Brooklyn...right off of Flatbush, on Chapel, which is a lot closer to you than Harlem.”

Steve huffs. He always visits the VA _with_ Sam. They’re a team, and honestly, Steve likes the way Sam takes over a conversation when they meet the public. Sam gets along with practically everyone. 

Sometimes, Steve wears his emotions on his sleeves and it gets him in hot water, especially with the PR department of SHIELD. Like the time he went on a rant when a Fox News reporter asked him a xenophobic question about immigration. The clip played on loop for months, and caused a shitstorm that had Fury’s eye twitching every time he looked at Steve. Not that he cares what SHIELD thinks; Steve just doesn’t want to deal with that kind of fallout if he doesn’t smile enough, or doesn’t respond diplomatically. 

Still, moving out from under the shadow of SHIELD means Steve has to start doing things like volunteering without leaning on the protective social graces of his friends.

“I know, Sam,” Steve concedes.

“Spread your wings, old sparrow,” Sam says. “You’ve been volunteering up here long enough to branch out on your own.”

“ _You’re_ the bird,” Steve retorts.

“Excuse you, I’m a Falcon! Get it right,” Sam says.

Steve huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head. He’s already feeling better. 

“Okay, I’ll check out the Brooklyn site.”

“Yes!” Sam cheers. “Let me know how it goes.”

“I will...and Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Steve gets off of the phone feeling a little lighter, with a sense of purpose. He changes into a fresh black and yellow Army t-shirt and comfortable khakis, checks his hair, and grabs his keys.

Weaving in and out of Brooklyn traffic on his bike helps his mood as well. It occurs to him how little he actually gets out of his neighborhood. Besides running in Central Park with Sam, he basically circles the same two to four block radius around his neighborhood. It’s about time for him to shake up his routine, do something different, and maybe meet some new people. Plus volunteering always leaves him feeling better. 

When Steve dismounts across the street from the Brooklyn VA Community Based Outpatient Clinic, there’s a small crowd gathered around it. Even from this distance, he can see they look displeased and Steve’s relaxed mood quickly disintegrates into concern. 

There’s a strong-looking man in a black bomber jacket with a huge bullhorn standing on a street bench above the people gathered there. Steve can’t make out his face because the guy’s baseball cap is pulled rather low.

“They’re killing us!” he shouts. “If you don’t die overseas serving, they make sure to finish you off when you get back here.”

Several people in the crowd shout their approval.

Steve walks in slow motion, slightly alarmed, but more curious as he stares at the man with the bullhorn. One of his hands is gloved, the other isn’t. Steve stops in his tracks. The guy’s five o’clock shadow does nothing to hide his killer jawline.

“It’s not enough we sacrifice our arms, legs, and minds for this fucking country. They want your soul, too!” he shouts, his accent all Brooklyn. “I lost one of the best men from my unit. Not overseas. Rodney survived the war but when he got back home, he killed himself.”

Steve gasps soundlessly as the man’s words strike something soft and vulnerable he hadn’t even known was in him.

“Why? Because he was clinically depressed and fucking trauma group wasn’t helping him. He’d been waiting nine months for a comp and pen evaluation when he put a gun in his mouth. Nine months! Are you kidding me?! Is that what we deserve?”

“No!” the crowd shouts back.

“Our suicide rate is 22 percent higher than the rest of the population, but the fat cats in Congress don’t care. They want to cut more of our funding, even though 80 percent of homeless veterans also suffer from mental illness and substance abuse. How’s the VA supposed to help us? They only got two therapists in there.”

“And Bob!” someone shouts.

There’s laughter, and Steve smiles a little as the tension breaks.

The man on the bullhorn laughs, but it sounds harsh, without mirth. “Oh yeah, Bob, the volunteer. We love Bob, but he’s part-time and there are over five-hundred of us who use this center regularly. It’s not enough. Is this what we deserve?”

“No!” Steve shouts with the crowd, his adrenaline spiked by the passion bleeding through the man’s voice. 

The man’s eyes sweep over the crowd once more, and stop on Steve.

He slowly lowers the bullhorn and Steve feels his pulse pick up. He gives the guy an encouraging nod. Hell, the man has inspired Steve so much, he’s willing to get up there with him if it helps raise awareness.

But the man doesn’t wave Steve over. In fact, he doesn’t look pleased to see Steve at all. His lips curl into a snarl and he raises his bullhorn. “Well, well, well, look who came all the way down from Manhattan. Clear the way folks, we have a superhero in our midst.”

The man’s voice drips with such heavy spite it affects the crowd. As the men and women gathered turn to peer at Steve, he can see anger and resentment in their eyes. 

It’s like deja vu. Steve clearly recalls the chilly afternoon in 1943 where he made his USO debut in front of a hostile group of soldiers. 

Raising his chin, he walks forward. Whatever these people may think of him, Steve is determined to show support for their cause. 

“Hello,” he says loud enough for everyone in the crowd to hear. 

“Ah, he speaks! Got anything to say, Captain America? Or did you come down here to round us all up?” the young man practically spits.

Steve shakes his head. “No, I agree with you.”

There are a few shocked gasps and some of the hardened stares turn hopeful, which is encouraging.

“Anyone who serves in the U.S. armed forces and makes the sacrifices you all have made should be respected.” Steve stares up at that disdainful face and pretty blue glare looking back at him. “That includes good health care, housing, job opportunities, and psychological support when they need it. I’m with you.”

The man lowers the bullhorn and Steve’s shoulders relax as he continues. 

“What you’re fighting for here is just as important as any war. Actually, it’s more important, because if we don’t treat the women and men fighting for our freedom well, then what are they really fighting for?”

A round of supportive ‘amens’, ‘damn rights’, ‘thank you Captain Americas’ follow, and Steve finally feels like he’s really doing something, or at least saying something, that matters.

The guy standing on the street bench brings the bullhorn back up to his lips. “What a rousing speech. Too bad it doesn’t quite gel with your record, _Captain_.”

Steve frowns and cocks his head, mentally combing through everything he’s done.

“Oh, don’t look so confused,” the man continues. “Or did you forget that while you’re running around getting all the glory for saving the world, it’s _your_ image they use to recruit us?”

The man reaches down into the audience, where he’s handed a picket sign with an image of Captain America pointing. Beneath a picture of Steve, it reads: _You Shouldn’t Have To Be A Superhero to Access Your Benefits._

Steve blinks, blindsided. 

“It’s _your_ image they use to make the citizen on the street feel like shit if they don’t sign up to spill their blood for the greater good.” 

Guilt turns Steve’s stomach. There’s so much contempt in the man’s voice. 

“And when we return, _if_ we return, it’s _your_ image they use to silence us. When we ask about proper medical care, and decent housing, they look at us and say ‘Captain America doesn’t fight for benefits, he fights for justice!”

It ends in a loud shout that rings over the street. More people have gathered, and as the guy finishes, his rage is palpable. He’s red in the face and practically shaking. Steve looks around and sees the faces in the crowd are a hodgepodge of disappointment and disapproval. 

Shame and anger wash over Steve and he resolves to fix this. “I didn’t know they were still using my image for recruiting,” he hears himself saying, still staring at the picket sign with his image on it. “That’s...wrong. I promise to put an end to it, right away.”

The guy with the bullhorn scoffs. “Of course you will. You’re all about justice, right? Or maybe just good PR. In the meantime, we’ll be right here. Asking for better access to the benefits we worked for.”

Steve tightens his jaw, so tempted to argue the man’s first point, but before he can even react, the man holds up one fist and pumps it to the rhythm of a new chant.

“We served! Now give us the benefits we deserve!”

The crowd quickly picks it up, and soon dozens of fists are waving in the air in unison as the chant grows louder.

“We served! Now give us the benefits we deserve!”

It’s drawing even more of a crowd now. But Steve is stewing about a complete stranger sizing him up incorrectly.

So he stays.

Partly out of admiration for the cause, and partly out of pure defiance, Steve pumps his fist in a show of solidarity. The guy on the street bench notices, and his eyes narrow.

Perhaps it's Steve’s ever-stubborn will, or his desire to prove this guy wrong, but Steve finds himself staring back at the guy, challenging.

After twenty minutes, the protest begins to thin out, but Steve is fully committed. He refuses to leave before the guy on the street bench.

It’s awkward, but eventually the guy hops off of the bench and strides over and damn, he has really striking pale blue eyes. With the five o'clock shadow, he has a rugged handsomeness that Steve reluctantly appreciates.

“Okay, you’ve made your point, Captain. We appreciate the show of support,” the guy says, in a way that sounds a lot like _bite me_.

“I meant what I said before,” Steve blurts out. “I didn’t know they used my image to recruit. I’ll definitely put an end to it.”

The man rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Great. You want a cookie or something? I mean, why are you telling me?”

And that’s really the million dollar question. This guy obviously has his mind made up about who Captain America is, and by extension who Steve Rogers is, but Steve can’t let that stand. Not from a veteran with this much spunk and sense of righteousness. If the guy wasn’t so angry with him, Steve is pretty sure they could be friends.

Steve sighs and offers a wry smile, trying to loosen the tension between them. “Because you got me pegged all wrong. How about we start over?” He extends his hand. “Hello, my name is Steve Rogers. Some people know me as Captain America, but first and foremost, I’m a kid from Brooklyn who served in the Army.” 

Steve waits as the guy looks back at him with a mix of disbelief and irritation.

The guy blows out a grunt and uses his ungloved hand to shake Steve’s hand aggressively. “Hello Steve, my name is James Barnes,” he says. “Did you know that every Avengers skirmish cost the taxpayers of the city, and by association, our local VAs, millions of dollars?”

Steve snatches back his hand. “You mean the skirmishes where we save the city from total destruction?”

James rolls his eyes and begins walking away from Steve, which is completely unacceptable--they’re in the middle of an argument. 

“How about you guys take the fight outside of the city sometime?” James calls out, not even bothering to turn. “Give us New Yorkers a break.”

“I care about this city, too, you know. I grew up here,” Steve shouts at his back.

The way James shakes his head, and the fact that Steve can’t see his expression, only makes Steve angrier, and he begins to follow him.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

“Yeah? Well I’m done talking to you, _Captain America_ ,” James says, still not turning around. “Why don’t you just go back to your million dollar tower in the sky, and leave this commoner alone.”

“Prick!”

The guy stops in his tracks and Steve feels a petty wave of vindication. Finally, he said something to get this guy to stop and listen. 

When James turns around, there’s a cold calmness in his eyes that chills Steve to the bone. He’s not afraid of this guy, but that doesn’t mean James isn’t a potentially formidable opponent. 

The vindication gives way to a flood of guilt. What is he doing? Getting into a public street argument with a recognized veteran protester.

“I don't care who you are,” James says. “You don’t get to call me that.”

“Well, if the shoe fits.”

James balls his fists and Steve realizes that this guy, this veteran, is ready to fight him in the middle of the street. All of the anger seeps out of Steve.

“Look, I don’t want to fight with you, alright?” Steve says. “I just…I want to support what you’re doing. That’s all.” 

“You want to support us,” James says, a wry smirk on his face, looking away for several moments. “Okay, Steve Rogers...I’ll bite.”

Steve can’t help the smile breaking on his face. “Yeah?”

James frowns. “I mean, literally. I’ll bite. I’m starving and you’re holding me up from lunch. If you insist on talking my head off about supporting veterans, you’ll have to do it while I put on some coffee and noodles”

When he starts walking away, Steve isn’t sure if he should follow.

James stops and looks over his shoulder. “You coming or what?”

“Oh! Are you... that was an invitation?” Steve swallows, surprised.

The shadow on James’ face returns. “I know you dine with the likes of Tony Stark, but ramen noodles is good food around here. If that’s too lowbrow for you--”

“No, no,” Steve shakes his head. “I just…wasn’t expecting you to invite me into your home. Thank you. I’d be honored.” 

James rolls his eyes and huffs. “Jesus.” 

Steve follows him to a shabby looking high rise building a few blocks away. There’s graffiti on the front that reminds Steve of the doodles he receives from his 4 year old fans. Several men of different ages and races stand around the front door, some are disheveled, some are more put together. 

They all greet James with smiles and head nods, but when their eyes reach Steve, there’s a mix of suspicion and surprise.

“No fucking way!”

“Nah man, that ain’t him.”

“Hell if it isn’t, that’s Steve fucking Rogers.”

“Bucky! Yo, Bucky!”

James grunts and stops. “What?”

“Is that Captain America?” asks a young looking dark-skinned guy. He’s practically pointing in Steve’s face.

James looks back at Steve and gives the guy an one shoulder shrug. “I don’t know, is it? Ask him yourself.”

“Hey, man, are you Captain America?” the guy asks Steve. 

Steve nods. “Yes, I am, but you can call me Steve.”

“Oh, shit!” the guy exclaims as the men all gather closer, forming a loose circle. 

Instinctively, Steve stiffens, and looks for James, who already looks terribly bored with the situation.

“Where’s your shield?” someone asks.

“Can I have a dollar?” a very thin man asks.

“Damn, this motherfucker is jacked!” The same guy from before squeezes Steve’s bicep, and it takes a considerable amount of self-control for Steve not to snatch his arm back.

“It was nice meeting you all, excuse me,” Steve says, backing up.

“Can you spare a dollar? I haven’t eaten all day,” the thin man asks again, holding out his frail hand. 

“Come on, Denny, you can’t ask Captain America for change,” a man in a wheelchair says, shooing the frail man away.

Steve swallows. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money on me.”

“Fuck that, I don’t need your money,” an olive skinned guy says. “Can you hook me up with a job? You live in Stark’s Tower, right? There must be positions for security, or hell, I’d take a janitor’s job.”

There are several agreeing murmurs and high fives.

“Actually, I don’t live in the Tower, but I can certainly look into it,” Steve says, feeling like shit because he already knows what Tony is going to say.

“Hey, wait, can you at least sign my shirt or something?” a small man asks, stretching his t-shirt out.

“Guys, stop,” James finally jumps in, and Steve discreetly sighs in relief. “Maybe later, huh? Go tell everyone Captain America is here and when he comes back down, he’ll sign autographs.”

Steve’s head snaps to look back at James, who throws him a wink. 

Seriously, fuck this guy.

The thought of just leaving crosses Steve’s mind, but how would that look? And who knows, maybe this is just James’ way of teasing Steve. 

“Mikey, you good tonight?” James asks the younger black man.

The guy nods. “Yeah I’m good. Thanks, Bucky.”

“Okay,” James says turning for the building. Steve follows. 

When they enter, a rank odor smacks Steve in the face, making him cough.

“Sorry about the smell. Our maid staff has taken sick, along with doorman, as you can see. It’s terribly inconvenient, ” James says in a fake pretentious drawl.

Steve reminds himself that this guy doesn’t know him, and not to take his little jabs personally, but it’s getting harder when James keeps talking to Steve like he’s some rich sleaze. 

Is that what the public really thinks of him? That he and the rest of the Avengers are filthy rich vigilantes who destroy property at the expense of hard-working taxpayers? It may be time to have a team meeting about image.

“Hello?!” James says, snapping fingers in Steve’s face. 

“Yeah?” Steve says in irritation. 

“I said, please take off your boots after wiping them on the welcome mat. I like to keep my place clean, since, you know, I don’t have people cleaning up after me.”

Steve opens his mouth to set James straight, when the door opens and he sees the condition of the man’s apartment.

It’s very small, not even a one-bedroom. Everything that James uses is in plain sight. The walls are an unpleasant puke green color, and there's a huge window with a view of his fire escape and the street. There are obvious yellow water stains on the ceiling, which is peeling and revealing rotted wood.

Against the wall are crates arranged to look like a poor imitation of book shelves. James has at least four crates full of paperback books. In the middle of the room is a thin mattress; the duvet is fluffy-looking, but there’s a big brownish stain on the edge.

Steve bites the inside of his lip, shame setting in. 

“Boots!” James sighs, pointing down at Steve’s feet.

“Oh,” Steve says, scrambling to untie and remove his shoes.

James shoots Steve a glare before turning his back on him and extending his arms out. “Welcome to Chateau Le Barnes! Shitter’s in the back corner, and my bed is my couch, so please don’t make yourself too comfortable.”

Steve watches as James pulls off the glove on his left hand. The guy has some type of metal prosthetic. Steve tries not to stare as James moves quickly to the kitchen, where he noisily starts setting up to cook. 

“Listen, James,” Steve says. “You obviously brought me here to make a point, and I get it now, okay? I want to help. Tell me your story, and together we can figure out a way to better support--

“You really don’t get it, do you?” James says, suddenly in Steve’s face. “You can’t do shit for me.”

Steve feels his jaw tightening, which is the first red flag. 

James just stands there, staring at Steve like he’s not sure what to make of him. All the while the tension between them is thick and growing like a balloon being filled past its limit. 

Steve should be backing away, or planning on how to block James, but this close, the ice blue color of James’ eyes is almost startling. 

“You think I can’t take you? Huh? Just because you’re all souped up on that serum? I ain’t scared of you,” James says, a little breathless. 

“Maybe you should be,” Steve says quietly, acutely aware of how fast his heart is beating. 

“Why?” James asks, leaning in a little closer, too close. “You ain’t gonna do shit to me. Are you?”

They’re almost nose to nose and Steve smells the remnants of cigarette smoke and cheap aftershave and holy shit, Steve wants to bury his face in this guy’s neck and get a big whiff.

“Keep pushing me, and you’ll find out.”

Neither of them blink and for a moment time is suspended. Suddenly there’s movement, and Steve waits for the hit. Just before collision, he hears James inhale sharply. 

What follows is not the bruising punch Steve expected but their lips colliding.

Steve’s not sure who started but he’s determined not to back out. James doesn’t miss a beat and kisses back, all tongue and bite. 

Steve nips at James’ bottom lip and sucks on it. The little moan it elicits sounds like victory music and emboldens Steve to walk them backwards. James moves with him, still kissing. When Steve grabs two handfuls of James’ ass to lift him up off of the ground, James starts to kick like a hellcat.

“Put me down, asshole,” James growls, half clawing and half pushing at Steve’s chest.

“Fine,” Steve sighs, walking to the center of the room and dropping James not too gently onto the mattress.

James flails a bit, his mouth open in shock as he tries to recover. It shouldn’t be so satisfying to watch him struggling, but he’s a jerk, and Steve finds a great deal of satisfaction in it. 

The scowl on James’ face could melt a block of ice, but he doesn’t look so tough trying to find his composure. From this vantage point, Steve can see shadows of the man he probably was before war; he’s damned handsome. 

“That was a cheap move,” James grunts.

Steve shrugs. “Haven’t you heard? Captain America is a dirty fighter.”

James snorts. “Nah, hadn’t heard that one. Maybe if the press weren’t such fanboys, we’d know more about your flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw--I’m still standing,” Steve says, looking down with a smirk.

James rolls his eyes and pulls off his baseball cap. A mess of brunette hair cascades around his face. When he shakes his head to clear it from his eyes, Steve looks away. 

So what, the jerk has pretty hair. He’s still a jerk.

“Hey,” James says gruffly.

Steve looks back down. The jerk has removed his jacket and he’s leaning back on his forearms, one metal, one flesh, with his head tilted up in a way that reminds Steve of old pin-up pictures. Okay, so he’s a sexy jerk.

“You gonna just stand there and stare, or are we gonna fuck?”

Steve tries not to show just how gobsmacked he is by James’ crass proposition. Especially after the way the jerk has been talking to him.

“What makes you think I’d want to?” Steve says, unsure of why he’s even entertaining this. He should just leave. This guy is bad news.

James scoffs. “Right. Or maybe you really are a virgin like people say. Is that it?”

Steve cracks his knuckles.

The little smile on James’ face makes Steve want to punch him - with his mouth. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” James says. “What’s the matter? Scared word will get out that Captain America can’t fuck?”

It’s the last straw. The last restraint of control snaps, and Steve pounces. In two seconds flat, he’s on the mattress, hovering over James and boxing him in on either side with his arms. 

James’ eyes widen and his lip quivers a little. Just as quickly as it appeared all signs of fear are hidden under a mask of bravado. 

“Well, well, well, looks like I hit a nerve. You wanna prove me wrong, Mr. America?”

“What I want you to do is shut the hell up,” Steve grits out.

James licks his lips lewdly. “Make me.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Steve pushes forward, grinding his erection down into James’, who is surprisingly just as hard.

James groans and bucks his hips like he’s just daring Steve to take him. Steve rises to it, and grabs a fistful of James’ hair to pull his head back so he can suck on his neck.

“Goddamn,” James pants as Steve bites. 

“What’s the matter? You need me to be gentle with you?” Steve asks.

“Asshole,” James huffs, and Steve can feel him reaching for something. He pulls back and sees James grabbing a half used tube of lubricant. He waves it in Steve’s face and places it in plain view by his side.

Steve wrinkles his nose. This guy keeps lube by his mattress, in the middle of his living room.

“Classy,” he murmurs.

James flashes a dirty smile and grabs a hold of Steve’s dick through his khakis. “You want classy, go back to Manhattan.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “For your information, I live in Brooklyn now.”

James doesn’t look impressed and somehow Steve finds that frustrating.

The warmth of James’ hand through layers of clothing is almost infuriating. He wants more, but he’s not letting this jerk call the shots. Steve slaps James’ hand away and undoes his khakis just enough to pull out his dick.

James’ mouth falls open a little bit. 

“Too much for you?” Steve asks with a smirk.

James pulls his eyes away, defiance burning through their ice blue hue. “I’ve had bigger.”

“Liar,” Steve growls as he reaches down with both hands to tug down on James’ jeans.

James starts to chuckle. “You really want this, huh? Hold your horses, pal.”

Steve pulls back reluctantly, glaring impatiently as James unzips his jeans and lifts his hips to pull them off.

He’s not wearing any underwear. 

It should be disgusting, but Steve’s dick grows impossibly harder as he takes in all the creamy flesh, surprisingly fit abs, and the trail of brown hair leading down to one of the most attractive dicks Steve’s ever seen. 

Steve’s eyes track James’ hand as it caresses his hard length. When Steve pulls his eyes away from it, James bites his bottom lip and stares back like he _knows_ just how sexy he is. 

Irritated by the smugness, Steve reaches down and grabs a fistful of James’ shirt and brings him up off of the mattress to flip them over so James now lays on top of him. 

There’s a deep frown on James’ face, but his dick is poking Steve in the waist, and his hips are moving. 

It’s Steve’s turn to smile now, and reaches to his side to snatch up the lube. 

“What are you--” James starts and lets out a choked moan as Steve grips both of their dicks in one palm. 

Steve keeps his eyes wide open as he sets a furious pace, watching as James’ eyes flutter and squeeze shut.

The feel of James pressed against his dick, and rutting into his hand, is the single hottest thing Steve’s experienced this century. It’s not long before his hips start stuttering. 

“Close,” Steve pants. Distantly, he feels the dull pain of James’ nails digging into his biceps.

“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna....” James groans loud and long against Steve’s chest and Steve feels hot spurts of spunk hit his hip.

The tight feeling of Steve’s balls drawing up makes him freeze and then he’s coming, and coming.

“Christ,” James mumbles against Steve’s chest.

For a moment, it feels nice, having a warm body draped over him. But then Steve remembers how much James dislikes him. He inwardly cringes at his life choices, preparing for something truly awkward. Finally, Steve opens his eyes to face the music. James is looking down at the mess they’ve made. 

“Ugh.” James sounds disgusted. 

Steve lets go of him, and James rolls off with a groan. When James starts wiping them up with the sheets, Steve frowns. “You don’t have a washrag or something?”

James stops wiping and glares up at Steve. “I gotta wash the sheets now anyway. If you need special accommodations, I suggest you go to the bathroom and take care of it yourself.”

Steve huffs and clambers up to his feet. God, he’s a super soldier, but the climb from James’ mattress on the floor to standing position works a few muscles he’s forgotten about. 

“That can’t be good for your back,” he calls out on his way to the bathroom.

“Sorry, the thrift store was all out of luxury mattresses,” James shoots back.

Steve rolls his eyes and considers offering to buy James a bed, but realizes how bad that would sound. The guy may be a jerk, but Steve doesn’t want to make him feel like shit. 

He grabs a few lines of toilet tissue and cleans up quickly. There’s a little spunk on the bottom of his shirt, but with a little water it’s barely noticeable. When he comes out, James is all cleaned up. The sheets are balled up and sitting on top of a pile of other dirty laundry in the corner. 

James is holding the front door open.

Steve sighs as he puts his boots back on. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

James’ face hardens. “I don’t wanna see your face near my VA and neighborhood again. We don’t need your brand of promotional charity.”

Another button pushed, Steve pauses at the door. “You can’t keep me away from that VA. I go where I want, and where I’m needed. Just because you don’t like me, doesn’t mean I can’t do some good there. Anyway, thanks for the….hospitality,” he says with thick sarcasm.

“Fuck you very much,” James says with a fake smile.

Steve steps out the door and turns around, smirking. “You wish.”

“It ain’t that special, pal. You didn’t even do anything. I can get a handjob anywhere.”

“I’d break you,” Steve says in a low dangerous tone. 

It’s supposed to sound threatening, but James still has that unimpressed look on his face. 

“Uh-huh, well, unfortunately, you just missed your chance to try. Bye-bye now.”

Before Steve can respond, the door slams in his face. Stunned, he stands there fuming for a moment, clenching his fists.

Steve takes a few deep breaths and finally backs away with one singular thought - he will be at the next protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s been a lot of debate about whether the U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs and the hospitals and outpatient centers that operate under it's purview are underfunded. Some say that it’s [underfunded by $2 billion dollars](https://www.newsmax.com/us/veterans-affairs-healthcare-underfunded-service/2015/01/15/id/618902/), while others claim the VA receives [more than adequate funding](http://thefederalist.com/2014/05/30/this-chart-shows-why-the-vas-problems-have-nothing-to-do-with-funding/). 
> 
> Regardless of where you stand on the issue, there is one point of consensus - the bureaucratic process for U.S. veterans trying to access their benefits is [very flawed](http://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/military/the-intel/sd-me-va-priorities-20161230-story.html), in spite of the overwhelming [need](http://fortune.com/2017/11/10/veterans-day-whats-killing-americas-veterans/) and right U.S. veterans have to these benefits.


	2. It'd Be Nice of Me To Take it Easy On Ya, But Nah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter was created by the lovely [The_She_Devil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_She_Devil/pseuds/The_She_Devil).

Spring usually brings some relief from the cold, but despite the pleasant breeze coming through the window, Bucky hasn’t been sleeping too well. He slugs his way through the next few days, wired but tired. 

Ever since Mr. Universe crashed the VA protest and followed him back to his apartment, Bucky finds himself wide awake in the dead of night, answering emails and solving technical issues for his job that could be put off until the next day. It is still better than staring up at his ceiling, thinking about what took place on his mattress. 

It is still hard to believe Captain America got him off. Sure, there was a spark, but that was easy to rationalize - the guy had his hand on Bucky’s dick. 

The more Bucky thinks about it, the angrier it makes him. 

He puts away his laptop and turns on the television, but doesn’t really pay attention. 

Who the fuck does Rogers think he is? Coming down to the VA to fill his charity quota and then acting all inspired by the protest. Did Rogers engage in a little tryst with Bucky to soothe his ego or to make Bucky feel better? The thought of Rogers taking pity on him is infuriating. When Rogers’ pretty mug pops up on the news, Bucky throws a beer can at the television.

Police and ambulance sirens wail outside. Bucky puts the television on mute and frowns. The sound of emergency sirens is normal around here, he regards it as background noise, but these sirens are too close. He stands up and goes to the window. There’s way too many emergency vehicles down there, so he pulls on some sweats to go downstairs.

The night is lit in shades of red and blue and there is a group of EMTs milling around. They are gathered around someone on the ground in the rotted area everyone calls ‘Cloud 9’. Because that’s where people go to get their drugs. 

Bucky peers into the gathering of EMTs and spots a familiar raggedy pale yellow jacket. 

“Oh geez, Denny,” Bucky murmurs, reaching for his back pocket to pull out a cigarette. He’s wearing sweatpants, though.

“You need a smoke?” asks Bobby, a very wrinkled pale former Naval officer who is a double leg amputee. He reaches up from his wheelchair to offer Bucky a cigarette.

Bucky looks over. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Hey man, where you been?” asks Sterling, a stacked and tough Latino ex-Marine with leathery skin and black hair. He’s old enough to be Bucky’s dad but still can drink Bucky underneath a table.

Bucky leans in so Sterling can light his cigarette. He takes a deep pull, relishing the taste and then exhales, his nerves already relaxing a little. 

“I’ve been around,” Bucky replies, and then nods over to where they’re lifting Denny onto a stretcher. “Think he’ll pull out of this one?”

“Of course,” Mikey says. “If anything, he’ll hang on just to be able to shoot up another day.” 

Mikey is the second youngest of the group, after Bucky. He has dark brown skin and a shaved head. Although he’s a former Army sergeant with enough PTSD symptoms to disrupt his ability to keep a job, he somehow always manages to smile.

Bucky chokes out a laugh at that. “That’s awful.”

“But true,” Mikey says. “And what do you mean, you’ve been around? We haven’t seen your ass since you brought Captain America by.”

The others are all staring at Bucky intently now, and he just wants to turn heel and go back into the building. He definitely doesn’t want to talk about Rogers or what happened.

“So what’s up, Bucky?” Sterling asks. “You can’t just walk in here with a superhero without giving us the story.”

Bucky sighs, exasperated. “He dropped in at the VA for some free promo, doing his do-gooder act, and I called him out. Told him what I really thought of him. He didn’t like it too much, so we got into it.”

Bobby gives a long, low whistle. “You got some nerve, Bucky. That man saved this city, this entire world, ten times over. You can’t be disrespectin’ him.”

Bucky lowers his eyes to show he’s been properly scolded, and, truthfully, to get Bobby to shut the hell up.

Sterling looks impressed, though, and Bucky can see his eyes gleaming in the red and blue of the siren lights. “Couldn’t have been too bad. He followed you up and he stayed up there for awhile.”

There’s a question in there that grows more insistent the longer it takes Bucky to answer. He takes another drag, and Mikey starts laughing.

“No fucking way! You bagged Captain America?”

“Stop,” Bobby says, glaring at Mikey. “Don’t start stupid rumors.”

“It could happen! He came out as bisexual last year, remember?” Mikey reminds.

Bobby waves his hand. “I’ll believe it when I see it. I think he’s still carrying a torch for Peggy Carter.”

“That don’t mean he can’t be bi, Bobby,” Mikey says slowly like he’s talking to a child.

“Well maybe Bucky can confirm,” Sterling demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bucky exhales a cloud of smoke into Sterling’s face, and the guy actually tries to inhale some of it. 

“Nothing like that happened,” Bucky huffs. “Why don’t you guys use those overactive imaginations for something good, like writing a novel or something.”

“If I could afford a damn computer, I would,” Mikey retorts.

“So why was he up there for so long, then?” Sterling prods again.

“To argue,” Bucky says. “The guy’s a hothead, likes to fight, so I indulged him, and then I kicked him out.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Bobby says, the disapproval in his voice clear. “He’s a war hero and a freakin’ legend.”

“Bobby, he’s not who you think he is, alright?” Bucky blurts out “He’s a roided-out asshole with a huge ego and I bruised it a little. Probably good for him.”

Mikey’s laughing again. “Oh man, you got balls. Do you have any idea how strong he is? I heard he can lift a tank like it’s nothing.”

“He can!” Bobby exclaims. “He did it back in ‘43, right before he punched out Hitler.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Oh my god. You’ve got to let go of those old wives' tales. He didn’t punch Hitler.”

“Did too,” Bobby argues stubbornly.

Bucky purses his lips. “Last I checked, Hitler didn’t die from no punch. If Rogers is strong enough to lift a tank, then that means a punch from him is fatal.”

Sterling chuckles. “And you went and made him angry _on purpose_? You got a death wish or something?”

“Nope,” Bucky shrugs. “Just don’t like the guy and that wholesome American pie schtick.”

Mikey groans. “Bucky, Bucky, listen to me. You’re missing the big picture here. Captain America knows your name! He came to your place! That’s an opportunity, man.”

“Not anymore,” Bobby grumbles. “Bucky’s gone and pissed the guy off. Real smart move, kid.”

“Well maybe you could apologize, get him to come back,” Mikey says desperately, like this is super important. “If you guys make up, maybe he’d hook you up with one of those fancy new Stark tech arms.”

“I’m doing just fine with what I got,” Bucky says, clenching his carbon-fiber prosthetic into a fist.

“Or a job,” Bobby adds. “I bet if you apologized and explained your situation, he’d help you out. He’s a great guy.”

“You don’t even know him!” Bucky protests. 

“Yeah but you saw that ‘gosh-golly-I’d-sure-like to-help’ look on his face,” Sterling says. “Come on, man, you’re fucking up a good thing here. Think of your friends. You could at least get us a tour of Stark Tower.”

“I’d sure love to meet Tony Stark,” Bobby says wistfully. “Did I tell you I saw his dad once?”

“Yeah, you tell us all the time,” Bucky says wearily.

“That man was a genius, and his son is just like him. Maybe if you make nice with the Captain, we could meet him.”

“I want to meet the Black Widow!” Mikey says. “No, no, the Falcon. That brotha is smooth as hell. You see the way he flies with those wing jets? And he’s Cap’s right hand man. If you guys become friends, I bet the Falcon would start coming around too.”

“Yeah well, I’m sorry to disappoint all of you,” Bucky says, stamping out his cigarette. “But it ain’t gonna happen. I ain’t apologizing to nobody and Captain Phony ain’t ever coming back here. I don’t want to hear mention of his name around me either, got it?”

The guys all go quiet, and Bobby’s chagrined expression is too much. 

“Mikey, you good tonight?” Bucky asks.

Mikey nods. “Yeah. I’m staying with Bobby.”

“Alright, well, I’ll catch you guys later. Goodnight,” Bucky mumbles, before turning to go back inside.

As he climbs the stairs and turns the key to his apartment, Bucky begins to seethe. He’d never snapped at the guys before. They’re his lifeline when things get unbearable; they’ve had his back through the hell of readjusting. 

This is all Rogers’ fault. His fake goody-two shoes image has Bucky’s friends believing that the sun shines out of Rogers' ass. 

So what if Rogers is larger in life than the TV and posters make him seem. So what if he looks every bit as perfect, with his pretty eyes and winning smile. So what if he has the type of big dick that reminds Bucky of his teenage fantasies, before war shattered his naivete. Before Bucky realized heroes like Rogers aren’t real and it’s all a dog and pony show. Propaganda. 

Captain America is an illusion and Bucky sees right through him. Just a few spiteful words was all it took for Bucky to crack that nice guy veneer and get the guy all peeved. 

As Bucky crawls into bed, he tries to push away the memory of Rogers picking him up off of the ground and dumping him onto the mattress like a light duffel bag. He hates how hot it made him, or how much Rogers’ growl made his heart race. Having all of that determination and passion focused solely on Bucky had been thrilling in a way he had not expected. And even if he found the guy more than a little absurd, Rogers’ ‘O’ face was not something Bucky would soon forget. 

There are more important things to think about, like tomorrow’s scheduled protest. There’s so much to be done. Bucky sends a little prayer up to whoever sometimes watches over the universe that they will raise enough attention before the next Congressional budget hearing. 

 

*

 

Bucky wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck. It’s to be expected, sleeping on a flimsy mattress with no bed frame. He works it out like he always does, with ten neck rolls on each side.

Once the hot water hits him and his blood gets more circulation, he starts whistling. Protest day always gets him fired up. He does an email check-in with his supervisor and schedules preventive security maintenance with new clients. 

There is an email from his sister Becca, and two from his mother. Bucky archives both of them in the folder he’s marked ‘Family’. He will reply to them all on his designated day for dealing with family shit. Just the thought of it raises his anxiety and sends him searching for the next business related email, something that won’t mess with his blood pressure. 

An email notification for his next scheduled direct deposit pops up. Bucky knows exactly how much he’s making but he opens it anyway to make sure it’s still real. He’s incredibly lucky he found a job that allows him to use his problem solving and technical skills and work remotely. It cuts down on his anxiety with dealing with strangers, allows him flexibility, and a steady income. It’s the income Bucky’s still not quite comfortable with, especially when he thinks about what some of his friends are doing, or not doing for work.

Once more, guilt creeps in and his thoughts turn to how he can make amends for his undeserved luck. 

The protest today is a good start. Bucky’s grateful the staff has given them their blessing to protest in front of the facility, even if they can’t participate. 

When he leaves the apartment, Bucky has his bullhorn in tow. Bobby, Sterling, and Mikey are nowhere to be found. Of course, it’s early, but there’s a low hum of regret in Bucky’s head, telling him he was way too harsh and needs to apologize to his friends.

But that’s for later. Right now, Bucky needs to…

He stops short, gaping at the small crowd gathered in front of the Brooklyn Outpatient VA. Everyone has signs, as instructed.

Even Rogers.

Bucky narrows his eyes and grumbles under his breath. Rogers is not going to ruin his protest. Not today. 

The group gathered is engaged in conversation, laughing and talking to Rogers like he’s one of them. 

“What are you doing here?”

Rogers flashes one of those patent poster selling smiles and holds up his sign: _“Keep the Promise to Our Vets!”_

Bucky blinks a few times and looks up into those big dopey blue eyes. They seem sincere. But so does all of Rogers’ propaganda. Bucky remembers that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like the guy.

“You think this is a joke? Or one of your PR plugs? This is about people’s lives!”

He didn’t mean to shout, but just seeing Rogers here lights something old and volatile, like a long-forgotten powder keg. He doesn’t want to think about what it is, what it means. Not right now. 

Right now, Bucky needs Rogers to leave his protest.

“I know what it’s about,” Rogers says stubbornly, his jaw jutting out. “That’s why I came back. I believe in what you guys are doing. I want to help bring attention to this issue.”

The veterans around Rogers pat his back and nod in approval, and Bucky sees red. Kicking Rogers out would make Bucky the bad guy. These guys, they’ve been hoodwinked by Rogers’ charming smile and the stuff SHIELD feeds the media. Bucky can’t blame them. They don’t know any better. 

He inhales through his nose and holds it for a count of five before exhaling. 

“Great,” he says through gritted teeth as he climbs the street bench. “Terry, wanna come up here?”

The older gentleman standing next to Rogers nods and takes Bucky’s hand to climb up to join him. Bucky looks out and is pleased to see that the crowd today is larger, and there are more signs. Across the street, a Channel 12 news van sits. This is great, better than Bucky ever hoped for--except, of course, for Captain fucking America, standing dead center in front of him and holding a sign like he belongs.

“Morning folks, thanks for coming out,” Bucky says into the bullhorn. “We got a good size crowd here today, let’s make sure our voices count. For those of you who can, we’re gonna stand here and make some noise from 9am to noon. If you see media, remember our sound bites, and don’t be afraid to wave your signs, that’s what they’re there for. Any questions?”

“Got any coffee?”

There are good-natured chuckles throughout the crowd, and even Bucky has to smile. “Yeah, Chris, we got you. Our hard-working VA staff is providing coffee and donuts inside. One per vet, don’t get greedy, and make sure you thank Darlene when you grab it.”

A few vets make a quick exit to get their refreshments, and Bucky turns to Terry. “You don’t have to do this.”

Terry nods. “Yes, I do.”

Bucky squeezes his shoulder, and glances out. Rogers is engaged in conversation with several veterans, and it all looks so friendly. What in the world could they be talking about? Rogers is a revered celebrity, and these guys, they’re like Bucky. Survivors with missing pieces. Struggling to navigate a world that has forgotten them. 

“I’m ready,” Terry says.

Bucky picks up the bullhorn again. “Alright guys, I think it’s important to remember why we’re out here. Why this matters. Our friend Terry has a story he wants to share.” 

Terry takes the bullhorn with a shaky hand and Bucky puts a comforting arm around him as he begins to talk.

“Most of you guys know me, but for those of you who don’t, my name is Terry Carter, and I am a veteran. 1st Battalion, 1st Marines. I did two tours - Iraq and Afghanistan. Came home a few years ago, and I was in pretty bad shape. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t relax, had problems concentrating, lost interest in damn near everything I used to love, and I was angry all the time, the whole shebang. Even had problems with my bladder. I ain’t ashamed about it now. Most of y’all know what the fuck I’m talking about.”

“Yeah we do!” someone shouts. 

There are many agreeing head nods and Bucky tightens his embrace because, as brave as this man is, he can feel him shaking as he speaks. 

“Anyway, it got so bad, my family was scared to be around me, and I ended up at Rikers. Judge told me I needed to get it together, use the services of my local VA since I had those at my disposal.”

The mocking tone in Terry’s voice garners a few laughs. But it’s not funny at all. It makes Bucky angry all over again, and reinforces his conviction.

“So I come down here, and don’t get me wrong, I love the staff here. Darlene, David, and Phyllis. They’re good people.”

“Don’t forget about Bob!”

Everyone chuckles. “Right, and Bob, too. They do what they can with what’s available, but it’s not enough. They need more support, and we deserve it.”

Many agreeing murmurs break out. 

“Now, when I first came down here a couple of years ago, I had to wait forever before I was seen. They didn’t have enough people on staff to get to me right away. I probably don’t need to tell you guys that when you’re as messed up as I was, sitting around waiting for months to get something, anything, to help you is like going through another round of torture. I thought I had left all that behind in the desert, but no…..I had to come back here and deal with it, on my own, while I waited. I figured if they didn’t have enough people here to help me, I’d help myself. I couldn’t get any meds, so I tried drinking to help with all the nightmares and bad thoughts I was having.” 

“That’s not right, man!” someone shouts.

“You telling me,” Terry laughs sardonically. “And that was just the beginning. So many times I thought about just not coming back. It’s hard enough getting up in the morning, or taking the subway without feeling like I wanted to end it. But somehow I got through it. Some guys….they don’t make it that far.”. 

Bucky squeezes Terry’s shoulder to give encouragement. 

“So anyway, after all of that,” Terry says. “I finally got to see a nurse practitioner, someone who could get me some drugs for this shit.”

There’s commiserating laughter in the crowd, and Bucky smiles.

“But,” Terry continues. “It took four fucking months to get there. I started in February, but I didn’t get to see a nurse practitioner until June. June! Am I losing it, or does that seem crazy to you?”

“It ain’t crazy!” someone shouts.

Bucky pats Terry on the back and Terry hands him the bullhorn.

“It’s not crazy at all, Terry,” Bucky says. “Just another day at the VA. How many veterans have to wait for weeks or months for services they earned because of understaffing and underfunding? How many of them just give up and waste away, or worst, end up homeless, in trouble with the law, or ending their lives? Is this what we deserve?”

“No!” the crowd shouts back at Bucky, their signs shaking in the air. 

Despite the large crowd, Bucky’s eyes find Rogers immediately. The guy’s face is flushed red, and there’s righteous indignation in his eyes. He wears anger quite well. 

Huh. 

Maybe Captain U.S.A. is really here for the right reasons, or maybe Terry’s story just got to him. Either way, it makes Bucky reconsider Rogers for a moment…

That is, until the Channel 12 news reporter shows up and pushes through the crowd.

The crowd starts chanting their practiced slogans and waving their signs, just as instructed. But the young woman with the microphone and her cameraman continue to inch their way closer to Rogers.

“Hey! Hey!” Bucky shouts down at them.

She looks up, startled.

“Why are you talking to _him_? He’s got access to all the benefits he needs and then some. We’re the ones who serve and have nothing to show for it. Why don’t you guys ever show up when it’s just us out here?” 

The anchor woman's face flushes as she glances up at Rogers, who plays his part of a supportive national icon well by nodding and directing the camera away from him and towards Bucky.

Another flare of annoyance blooms. Bucky doesn’t need Captain All American helping him.

The chants grow louder as the camera gets closer and the reporter is talking to it, and then she’s looking up at Bucky, her eyes pleading for mercy. 

Bucky’s always a sucker for contrition and pouts; he’s not a monster. So he jumps down and answers her questions. 

_Why are you out here?_ Veterans rights. We want better access to the benefits we earned.

 _What do you want to accomplish today with this protest?_ More awareness. Maybe it’ll finally reach Congress. Maybe they’ll give us more funding, or at least stop cutting our budget when they’re not sitting on their $500 toilets. 

_How long do you plan to do this?_ Until something changes. 

_Do you feel like the Brooklyn VA is mistreating veterans?_ It's not the VA’s fault. The vets love the staff here, but there’s not enough of them and it's not fair to them either. 

_How does Captain America figure into all of this? Did you guys personally invite him here today?_ Hell no. We don’t have the guy’s number. He just showed up, and of course you guys came running. We hope to see you here again, even if he’s not around.

The anchor didn’t look too happy with that response, but it felt good to say.

Two hours later, after the protest has died down and the people disperse, Bucky hops down from his street bench.

Rogers is still there, like he’s waiting for Bucky or something. 

Bucky huffs, turning around to thank the few stranglers that are left. He goes inside the VA and thanks Darlene for the coffee and donuts too. Darlene is an older African-American woman with kind eyes and when she smiles at Bucky, it’s fond and tired. 

“Anytime, honey. Maybe one day they’ll listen. Lord knows we could use a few extra hands around here.”

Bucky slips back outside, where Rogers is still standing by the street bench, holding his sign.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” 

“Not when I care about something, no,” Rogers replies.

Bucky sighs wearily. “Okay, well, you’ve done your good deed for the day. Why are you sticking around?”

An assortment of emotions flicker over Rogers’ face, but he finally settles on resolution. Bucky’s seen that look before, in press conferences and on Captain America promotional materials.

“I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate what you said earlier, and how you said it. You may not like me, James, but we’re on the same side. I can use my influence to get you guys more press and--”

“Save it!” Bucky snaps. “We don’t need any favors from you, or any of your superhero friends. This is _our_ fight. The real veterans!” Bucky spits as he turns to head back home.

“Think I don’t know what it’s like to be in a foxhole, or fire a gun, or kill someone? I’ve been there, a hundred times!” Rogers calls from behind him.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky says, turning around and walking backwards. “But it’s a lot easier when you’re damn near invincible. It’s not the same. _We’re_ not the same. The stakes are different for you, so don’t even try to pretend you understand anything about us or what we’re going through!”

Rogers’ nostrils are flaring, and there’s something about seeing this guy getting all worked up that Bucky finds so satisfying. 

“I’ve watched good men die, just like you,” Rogers grits out. “Men I fought alongside with, men I counted as friends.”

Bucky turns his back on Rogers then, because he’s tired and hungry, and he refuses to do this out in the open where any one with a smartphone can tape it. 

Why the fuck does Rogers care what he thinks, anyway?

Bucky’s so thoroughly annoyed that he doesn’t realize he’s being followed all the way back to his building, until Sterling calls out.

“Hey, Bucky! Oh! Hey, Bobby, look who’s back. Bucky brought Captain America again.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Captain America!” Bobby all but shouts as he wheels his way over, making double time. Mikey is right behind him, with a goofy grin on his face.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Rogers’ unfairly deep voice says from behind Bucky. 

It’d be so easy to turn around and tell Rogers to scram, but Bucky has some making up to do for snapping at his friends. 

Rogers actually shakes Bobby’s hand and then Mikey’s and Sterling’s as well. Bucky just barely contains an eye roll.

They all introduce themselves and then start asking Rogers questions. Stupid shit like if he could really lift a tank and if he had punched Hitler (ha! Bucky was right. That only happened on stage!), and if he could get them into Stark Tower for a tour (maybe), and if he and Bucky have made up yet.

“Ugh, seriously guys?” Bucky groans.

Rogers has a smirk on his face that Bucky wants to smack off.

“I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, if he is,” Rogers says.

Bucky shakes his head. “See you guys later. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Bucky!” Bobby shouts. “Come back here.”

But Bucky disappears inside of the building, stomping up the stairs, irritated with himself for letting Rogers’ presence get to him like this, and angry with Rogers for casting a shadow on an otherwise successful protest. 

Everywhere Rogers goes he hogs up the spotlight. Bucky’s not jealous, far from it, it’s just that all of the hero worship for Captain America grates on his nerves. It feels _wrong_ and misplaced, and Rogers’ model looks and earnest act only generates more of it. It's aggravating.

He’s putting on a pot of water for his noodles when there’s a loud knock on his door. 

Bucky looks up and realizes he never closed it. What the hell? He always closes his door, why the fuck would he forget--

“James,” Rogers pokes his stupid perfect face through the crack.

Bucky doesn’t answer and turns his back to tend to his boiling water because boiling water can get complicated. 

The door creaks and then closes. 

“What do you want?” Bucky practically snarls, turning off the stove. 

Rogers scratches the back of his neck, looking strangely sheepish. “Your friends claim you’re a nice guy, that we got off on the wrong foot and that I should come up here and try to talk some sense into you.”

New anger rears its head like a cobra, propelling Bucky forward, stepping into Rogers personal space against the door. 

[](https://imgur.com/3QtwKr3)

“Yeah well, unlike my friends, I have no desire to see Stark Tower or meet your superhero friends.” He breaks out into a cruel grin as he leans into Rogers’ face to whisper. “And I know for a fact now, the sun doesn’t shine out of your ass.”

Rogers smells good, like soap and aftershave. Too good for a guy who’s been standing at a protest for hours. 

“You haven’t seen my ass, just my dick,” Rogers says. “And I don’t recall hearing any complaints.” 

His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are full of that fire that gives Bucky a thrill. Once again, he’s managed to get under Captain America’s skin. It shouldn’t be so addictive but Bucky wants to keep pushing, rattle his cage a little more, bask in this accomplishment. 

He holds himself steady, nose to nose with Rogers as his satisfaction ripens into something else. 

Rogers’ breathing changes, just like it did before, and it goes straight to Bucky’s dick. He kind of hates his body for betraying him. 

Why is this asshole so hot, especially when he’s all riled up?

“If you came up here expecting us to kiss and make up, I got bad news for you, pal - that’s never gonna happen.”

Even as Bucky says it, he knows he’s already lost this round. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna let Rogers have his way with him like some damsel from a Harlequin, this is his damn apartment.

“So why does it feel like you’re about to kiss me?” Rogers asks in a smug tone.

Bucky snarls and pushes Rogers with both hands but it’s like smacking a brick wall - it hurts a little. Rogers, the punk, gives Bucky a little smile, then snatches the front of Bucky’s t-shirt, twisting the fabric up into a ball. He picks Bucky up like that and turns them around, against the door. 

Being slammed into his own door shouldn’t be a turn on, but Rogers is incredibly strong and Bucky can admit it’s pretty hot. This guy can literally kill him with a punch, but he respects Bucky enough to push back, even if he’s not using his full strength.

Still, they’ve been here before, and all Bucky got out of it was a quick handjob. 

“Are you gonna actually fuck me this time, or just play with my dick again?”

Rogers bares his teeth and Bucky grins like a loon. Then all hell breaks loose. They claw and pull to get each other out of their clothing, all the while moving towards Bucky’s floor mattress. 

Bucky ends up on his back, blinking up at a golden mass of grade-A all American beefcake. The loud distinctive pop of his lube being uncapped takes him by surprise and his eyes dart to Rogers’ hand. The bastard sure does move fast. 

Bucky swallows. He talked all that shit about being able to take Rogers, but the fact of the matter is, the guy really could break him. And Rogers’ dick…. holy science fiction! Rogers’ dick is long and thick and Bucky totally lied before about it not being the biggest he’s ever seen. 

“You don’t look so tough now,” Rogers says quietly. 

Bucky sneers. “I’m gonna wear you out.”

Rogers drops his head, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“And you’re stalling. Come on, fuck me,” Bucky demands. “And remember, just because you have a big dick doesn’t mean you don’t gotta put in the work.”

Rogers narrows his eyes and squeezes out a large glob of lube with a determined expression. Bucky lets his head fall back and tries to relax when he feels a large slippery finger caressing his crack. Rogers is surprisingly gentle as he works his finger between Bucky’s cheeks, and it’s killing the vibe. 

“Any day now, grandpa,” Bucky sings.

“Shut up,” Rogers grits out, pushing his index finger against Bucky’s hole. 

It tickles more than anything. Impatient, Bucky begins to buck into it. When Rogers breaches him, he sighs and asks for another one.

Rogers looks at him in disbelief.

Bucky huffs. “We’re not making love here.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you, jerk,” Rogers says in irritation.

“When are you gonna get it through that thick meathead of yours that I can take it?”

Rogers stills, his eyes assessing. Bucky gasps as another finger suddenly joins the one already inside of him. It burns so good. The kind of burn Bucky can’t give to himself. The kind he’s been craving since he got back home. It lights up everything inside of him, making him feel more alive than any SSRI drug.

“How’s that?” Rogers asks in a gruff voice, but there’s real concern in his eyes, and that’s just infuriating.

Bucky starts rocking back and forth like it’s a challenge. “It’s good. Give me one more.” 

Rogers ignores the order, concentrating instead on working Bucky open. Those two large fingers twist and scissor, creating delicious friction that has Bucky rolling his hips in tight circles. They’re falling into a nice slow building rhythm when Rogers, the asshole, decides to up the ante by caressing Bucky’s balls. 

A shiver runs through Bucky and he groans in frustration, wiggling his ass to move things along. Rogers huffs in resignation and then finally, finally, Bucky feels a third finger pressing against him. He licks his lips and pushes his hips to help. 

Rogers looks ready to pull back at any moment at the slightest sign of discomfort, which only makes Bucky want to take more of him. 

With his other hand, Rogers reaches back and once again, Bucky hears the lube cap popping. 

Bucky nearly rolls his eyes until a fresh glob of lube hits him. The slickness actually cools the burn a little.

Several more minutes pass as Rogers works Bucky over. He maneuvers all three fingers until the burn turns into a needy ache and Bucky is open.

“That’s enough prep, put it in me,” he breathes.

Rogers stops and sighs like he disapproves. “Alright. You asked for it.”

He looks over his shoulder and reaches back for his khakis. Bucky watches as he retrieves a condom from the back pocket.

“A little presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?” Bucky says.

“Obviously not,” Rogers deadpans back. 

Bucky snorts and watches as the big lug rolls the condom over that big dick. Anxious to get on with it, Bucky reaches down to guide that thing inside of him. A fresh dollop of lube lands on his fingers and Rogers reaches down to smack Bucky’s hand away. 

Bucky wants to curse the bastard out, but then Rogers is scooping up the extra lube and stroking it over his dick like some sort of porn god. 

It’s almost funny, except Bucky is all worked up now and needs that big dick inside of him. 

“Still want it hard?” Rogers asks with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Yeah, asshole. I want---”

His words die in his mouth as the impressive girth of Rogers’ head presses against him. Even thoroughly prepped, it’s a tight fit, and Bucky finds himself gripping Rogers’ arms again. 

“You were saying?” Rogers asks in a strained voice, unable to hide how affected he is by the squeeze on his dick.

Bucky stares back defiantly while trying to will his asshole to relax even more. From the looks of things, he’s not the only one wound too tight. The muscles in Rogers’ chest and biceps ripple and flex, like he’s really trying hard to hold himself back. The look of sheer determination on his face is something to behold, and Bucky openly gawks at how powerful he looks. Then he quickly shakes himself out of it.

“That all you got?” Bucky says with renewed spite, doing a little shimmy with his ass to goad Rogers on.

Rogers appears unaffected by Bucky’s insistence, pressing on, slow and careful.

And maybe that’s a good thing, because when the fat head of Rogers’ big dick finally penetrates Bucky, the full weight of the damage this thing could do begins to sink in. 

Out of self-preservation, Bucky stops antagonizing and begins rolling his hips nice and easy to accommodate Rogers. Every new inch is a revelation. If he felt loose from the prep, now he feels totally stretched out. 

It’s been a long time since Bucky’s been filled, and he’s _never_ been full like this. He closes his eyes for a moment to savor it. When Rogers finally bottoms out, Bucky slowly opens his eyes to find Rogers looking down at him, his blue eyes dark and full of lust. 

In his entire thirty two years, Bucky would have never imagined himself here, underneath Steve Rogers and the object of his singular focus. It’s a heady thing, and Bucky is reminded of greek myths and the mortals who stand out, the ones who somehow manage to snag the attention of gods.

Bucky looks away from Rogers’ face and reminds himself this guy is not a god. Rogers is a fucking manufactured supersoldier, with a fake smile to hide the fact that he’s built to lure young men and women to serve, for a dishonest government that doesn’t honor its promises. 

“You gonna move or what?” Bucky asks curtly. 

The desire on Rogers’ face transforms into irritation and he pulls back a little and then pushes forward.

“Harder,” Bucky insists.

Rogers frowns, but his arms are trembling from the effort it’s taking to restrain himself. It’s obvious he really wants to let go and fuck Bucky, but he’s still doing his nice-guy routine. 

“For fuck’s sake, stop treating me like a goddamn virgin; I can get better action with a dildo.”

That does the trick. Rogers grabs both of Bucky’s thighs to pull him down and spread him wide. Bucky’s breath hitches and Rogers raises one questioning eyebrow. 

“Yeah, come on, give it to me,” Bucky gets out, before he loses his nerve because he’s about to get pounded by Captain America. 

Rogers starts to move, giving deep strokes. He’s not being gentle at all, but he’s not using his full strength. Still, when he picks up the pace, Bucky has to grip his forearms to hold on.

“You like that? This.What.You.Want?” Rogers grunts out, the sound of skin slapping skin loud in Bucky’s small apartment.

Bucky makes an embarrassing noise that he’ll later deny as Rogers starts hitting his prostate with amazing accuracy every single time.

“Where’s all that mouth now? Huh, James? Say something,” Rogers taunts, angling to the right to hit Bucky’s spot a little harder.

“Oh fuck, oh, oh, fuck-fuck you, ass - asshole,” Bucky moans, trying to think of words because holy shit, he’s never been reamed out like this. “You-you, fucking overgrown Boy Scout. You can...oh, you can…give it to me…harder than that.”

Rogers growls and pulls Bucky’s ankles over his shoulders. Bucky’s mouth falls open as the mattress begins to slide across the floor.

As his eyes begin to roll into the back of his head, Bucky sorta loses the plot to why he was so angry. He can’t really think at all; the lower half of his body is one exposed nerve ending and the constant wave of pleasure is making him incoherent. It feels so, so good, and it hurts just right. It’s a little too much, yet somehow he doesn’t want it to stop. 

Rogers’ breathing turns ragged and he starts veering from his previous rhythm. Bucky figures he’s about to come, but then Rogers reaches down between them to wrap his lubed up hand around Bucky’s dick.

A strangled whimper escapes Bucky as Rogers starts jerking him with firm sure strokes. Being fucked by Rogers while getting a handjob will now forever be his go-to fapping material. 

He’s already on edge when Rogers does some sneaky little twist with his wrist. Buck’s balls draw up and he freezes as Rogers hits that magic spot again. 

“Ah!” Bucky shouts loudly, coming all over both of them. 

When Rogers withdraws his warm palm, Bucky immediately feels the absence of the loss. It’d be nice to just pull up the comforter and pass out right here, but his legs are being bent back and Rogers is rising up on his haunches like a linebacker taking position. 

“Uh, uh, oh shit, oh fuck. Uh!” Bucky chokes out, as Rogers jackhammers him into the mattress and across the floor. 

The mattress makes a soft thud when it hits the wall. Rogers goes rigid and lets out a long groan before falling over on his side. Bucky doesn’t look, but he can feel the imprints Rogers’ fingers have left on his skin. 

They lie like that for several moments, just breathing heavy, Bucky staring up at the ceiling and Rogers doing whatever he’s doing. Finally, Bucky looks over to see exactly what that is, and finds Rogers on his side, his head propped on his arm, staring down at him. 

He’s still rock hard. Must be that fucking serum.

“You alright?” Rogers asks in his Mr. Nice Guy voice. 

Bucky scoffs and then grimaces as he feels the sticky grossness between his legs and underneath him. 

“Are _you_?” Bucky asks. “You barely lasted five minutes, buddy.”

Rogers is looking at him like he grew two heads. “I just fucked your brains out. That five minutes? That was me showing you mercy.”

Bucky can feel his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. Rogers is a shit-talking punk. Yeah, there’s a throb in Bucky’s ass and he’s a boneless spaghetti noodle, but this is still his apartment and he’s not gonna let Captain Steroids get away with talking smack just because the guy gave Bucky one hell of an orgasm.

“Get out.”

Rogers frowns. “Are you serious?”

“Did I stutter?” Bucky gives a disinterested blank stare, which is actually harder than it should be. 

Rogers huffs and then rolls over into a crouch. He’s getting better at that. The last time he looked like he was gonna topple over trying to get up from Bucky’s floor mattress. 

Bucky listens to Rogers’ footsteps as he putters around the bathroom. The toilet flushes and then water starts running. When he comes back, Rogers is come-and-lube-free. It makes Bucky feel extra dirty. 

A warm wash rag lands on Bucky’s stomach and he jerks in surprise. Bucky slowly picks it up and wipes off while watching Rogers dress.

“I’m coming to the next protest, and the one after that,” Rogers says as he pulls on his khakis and wrangles into a henley at least a size too small. “I’m making VA funding my number one cause.”

Bucky throws down the washrag. “Just stop. You think I don’t see what you’re really doing?”

Rogers’ eyebrows knit together like he actually doesn’t understand. Oh, he’s good, but Bucky’s better.

“I’m not dumb, Rogers. Between the terrorists, aliens, and the city’s safety commission, the Avengers are taking a beating in the public relations department. You guys _need_ good PR. So you came down here to get some charity points and saw a bunch of guys with a legitimate bone to pick, and thought ‘hey, this would be perfect’! But you picked the wrong fight, pal. We’re not puppets you can parade around to improve your image. We’re veterans.”

“I know that!” Rogers shouts back and it booms like a cannon in Bucky’s tiny studio. Momentarily stunned, Bucky doesn’t respond. Rogers drops his head and his shoulders as if scolding himself. 

When he speaks again, his voice is much softer. “So are the men and women I served with, that I serve with _now_. We may not wear the same uniform, James, but we care about the same things. What they’re doing to you guys is wrong, and I want to do whatever I can to help make it right.”

“Why now?” Bucky asks rising up from the mattress to grab a pair of pants and dress. 

“What?” Rogers asks.

Bucky quickly pulls up his pants and crosses his arms over his bare chest. “You’ve been out of the ice what, two years? Why is this the first time I’ve seen you at a protest? They cut 1.4 billion dollars in funding for veterans the year after you came back. Never heard you mention it in any of your interviews, and you certainly weren’t down here protesting.”

“Maybe because I've been a bit distracted by all of the aliens attacking the city," Rogers says, throwing his hands up. "What matters is that I’m here now.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Yeah well, we don’t need you.”

“You need attention,” Rogers says. “I can generate press and get Congress to take this seriously.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“You’re right,” Rogers agrees. “Which is why I intend to keep this one.”

He’s all dressed now, and standing by the door and Bucky wants to argue with him some more. Not only because he’s all keyed up, but exchanges between him and Rogers always leave him feeling a little more raw, a little more human, even if it’s all anger. 

Rogers steps out into the hall. "Guess I'll see you soon," he says with an insolent smirk. 

Bucky slams the door in his face and falls back against the door, frowning. 

_Guess I'll see you soon_

The nerve of this guy! Is he talking about protesting, or fucking again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs oversees a system of approximately 1,700 hospitals, outpatient clinics, counseling centers and long-term care facilities that provides care to nearly 9 million U.S. veterans annually. The demand for VA services is so great that they have created a ranking system for prioritizing who gets care. U.S. veterans are sorted into eight groups. Health status, income, and age all factor into how they are grouped and ranked for care. Unfortunately, not everyone who serves is [eligible ](https://www.va.gov/healthbenefits/apply/veterans.asp)for VA services, and many VAs cannot accommodate the enormous demand. Those who do qualify often have to wade through a [long and confusing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1tUIB-jDG4I) process to access their benefits, sometimes waiting up to eight to twelve months after the first claim is filed.


	3. I Ain't Thinking 'Bout You

Steve wakes up but can’t get up. Nothing’s really wrong; he’s just weighed by a lethargy so heavy he can’t even kick off the covers. The digital clock on his nightstand says 7:08am. He’s late. 

He still doesn’t move, too fixated on the swirling stucco design of his ceiling. It’s cream-colored, but all Steve can see right now is pale blue eyes.

There’s so much temptation to call JARVIS to get intel on James Barnes. But it’s really none of Steve’s business, except for the fact that now he’s fucking the guy. 

Steve facepalms himself as he ponders what the hell he’s doing. Having weird fight sex with someone who hates his guts is dysfunctional for sure, yet it’s obviously doing something for him.

As the minutes tick by, Steve realizes his laziness may actually just be the absence of tension. The vigilance he holds closer than his shield has been temporarily disarmed. It will never _not_ be there, because it’s a part of who Steve is, but it's not pulling at every fiber of his being as it often does. He’s relaxed. More relaxed than he’s ever been in this century.

He tries to rationalize it. It could be the protest. It’s been a long time since Steve has felt connected to a cause with such a clear moral imperative. No shady or complicated means or ends or political figures pulling the strings. Raising awareness about VA underfunding can help people _without_ causing damage. Steve hadn’t realized just how much he needed a cause like this. 

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t completely credit the protests for his new relaxed state. The real source lies with James Barnes. 

Since waking from the ice, everyone in Steve’s world has fallen into distinct categories - teammates/friends, colleagues, acquaintances, fans, _batshit crazy_ fans, the media, villains, and civilians who need his help. He hadn’t realized he’s been sorting people like that--until he met someone who didn’t fit. James blows away those categories like a firecracker and he’s just as volatile and distracting. His brash attitude and sass are too familiar; Steve recognizes them in himself. And the guy’s quite a looker, even under all the scruff and shaggy hair. Those striking eyes hold so much emotion, and when they’re set on Steve, they’re usually full of anger. 

It’s strange to have someone you admire always be so angry with you.

It’s also strange to be so annoyed by someone that you wish you didn’t admire. James is obviously brave and committed to veterans, but he’s still a jerk, especially to Steve.

The buzzing of his phone forces Steve to struggle through his sloth and finally move. He’s not surprised at all by the name flashing on the screen. 

“Hey, Sam.” 

“Hey man, rise & shine.” Sam sounds bemused. “Since when do you sleep in? I’m at Central Park already.”

“I know, I was just about to get up,” Steve says, which is sort of true. He was thinking about getting up, at least. “I’ll be there soon.”

“You better, I’m freezing my nuts off. It may be March, but it’s still not officially Spring.” 

Steve huffs. “You know nothing’s stopping you from getting in your car and coming down here.”

“Oh, no, no,” Sam says. “Don’t even try it. We agreed--you don’t want to come all the way uptown, and I definitely ain’t crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. Central Park is the halfway point. That was our deal.”

Steve groans and agrees to be there in fifteen minutes. It’s about nine miles; Steve’s run the distance many times as a warm up.

When he gets there, Sam looks like a disapproving nun. Steve quickly shuts Sam’s shaming down by lapping him more than usual. By the time they start their cooldown, Sam is wheezing. Steve tries not to be too smug about that, but well, Sam started it. 

After a long rest in the cold grass with Steve looking on, Sam catches his breath enough to speak. He props himself up on his arms and glares up at Steve.

“What?” Steve asks innocently.

“Don’t ‘what’ me. Sometimes I want to hold a press conference. The public deserves to know what a troll you are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says as he starts stretching. “I’m just trying to get in a good workout.”

Sam shakes his head. “Yeah, alright. Keep playing that card, man.”

Steve throws Sam a sly smile which is met by a fond chuckle. 

“So what’s up?” Sam asks. “You’re pretty spry this morning, and you’re kinda glowing.”

Steve tries to hide a smile and does a twist to look away. “Glowing?”

“Yeah, your pale ass is glowing!” Sam rises to his feet and circles Steve completely. “What is it? Had a good night’s rest?”

Steve hopes he’s not blushing when he nods. “Yes, actually.”

Sam hums and narrows his eyes. “Yeah but that’s not it, though. Whatcha been getting into?”

“Nothing,” Steve says too quickly. 

“Uh-huh,” Sam says, folding his arms over his chest. “Well _nothing_ is working wonders for you.”

Steve shakes his head and folds over to stretch his calves and hide his face again. 

“So how’s the new place?” Sam says.

Grateful for the change of subject, Steve rolls up to an upright position to give Sam a smile. “I love it. Love the neighborhood, my neighbors, the local shops. Everything’s perfect.”

“And the VA? Did you get a chance to check it out?” Sam asks.

Steve's smile fades. “Yeah, but uh, haven’t really gone inside yet.”

“Why not?”

“Protests?” Steve winces, not sure how Sam is going to take this. “The vets there aren't happy with all of the budget cuts.”

“Oh man.” Sam blows out a hard breath. “Don't get me started about that.”

“So you know about this?” Steve asks.

“Hell yeah, it’s a major problem,” Sam exclaims. “It’s great people are speaking up, trying to push for change. We need more funding, plain and simple. They’ve been shafting us for a long time. But as a staff member, I’m in a weird position and it’s not cool for me to talk about it publicly. I definitely support what they’re doing, though.”

Steve nods, relieved. “Yeah, it seems pretty serious. I’m going to try and raise some awareness.”

“Alright now, Billy Badass,” Sam smiles. “I’m sure you can. But watch it. You know how Fury gets. Probably should talk to him first before it hits the press.”

The deadpan look that Steve gives makes Sam snort.

“What am I saying?” Sam asks, extending his arms to the universe. “Steve Rogers asking for permission to do the right thing? I must be losing my mind.”

“Sounds like it,” Steve says.

*

It’s Tuesday at the VA and there is no crowd outside. Steve walks in and finds a tall, middle aged black woman with her hair tied back in a ponytail. She’s sitting at the front desk talking to an older white man wearing a Vietnam Vet cap. They both stop talking when Steve walks up and introduce themselves as David and Darlene. 

Steve tells them he wants to volunteer. David claps his hands like he’s delighted and grabs a clipboard with an application to fill out. 

Before Steve can accept the clipboard, there’s a shuffling of chairs and voices just beyond the wall next to the front desk. A side door in the hallway opens and a stream of men and women pour out, some of them chatting amongst themselves, others quiet and aloof looking. 

The last person to emerge has a very familiar sturdy build, with a recognizable faded Mets cap barely containing his long brown hair. James is looking down as he walks towards the front door. Steve almost wants to say something, to get his attention, but James hates him and it looks like he’d rather be left alone.

“Hey Bucky! Bucky!” David calls from behind Steve. 

James stops walking and slowly turns around, his eyes immediately locking onto Steve. 

“You got a second?” David asks.

James stalks back. His eyes decidedly shift to focus on David and Darlene; it’s like Steve has suddenly disappeared. It slips underneath Steve’s skin, needling that small scrappy inner child that still hates being slighted. He knows he probably should excuse himself or take a seat in the waiting room and fill out his volunteer paperwork, but he kind of wants to see what James does. 

Plus, he was here first.

“What’s up, Dave?” James says tightly.

“I want to you to meet a new volunteer,” David says with excitement. Steve holds his breath. “Steve, Eagle Wings is one of our volunteer programs you may want to consider. They help escort patients in wheelchairs to their appointments. This guy right here is one of our best Eagle Wings Patient Escorts. Now his paperwork says James Barnes, but everyone around here calls him Bucky.”

Steve holds out his hand. “ _Bucky_ , wow, that’s quite a nickname. Nice to meet you.”

There’s no humor in Bucky’s chuckle but he shakes Steve’s hand. He’s trying to squeeze extra hard, but it only registers as slightly firm to Steve. 

“Likewise,” Bucky says. “Hey, you look kinda familiar. Have you been around here before?”

“Bucky!” Darlene says with incredulous wide eyes. “Stop playing! You know who this is.”

Bucky looks back at Darlene with a really over-the-top confused expression. “No, I really don’t. Who is it?”

Steve holds in a curse, just barely. 

“This here is Captain Steve Rogers. The superhero they call _Captain America_. You know, leader of the Avengers?”

Bucky’s mouth drops open comically and the jerk actually slaps both of his cheeks to make a perfect surprised ‘O’ with his mouth. “Oh. my. god! Seriously? Okay, yeah, I see it now. Wow, you’re much smaller in person.”

Both David and Darlene gasp but Steve just smirks. This bastard.

“Am I really?” Steve asks, the implicit dare lacing his words.

Bucky’s eyes go a little wide and then slide to David and Darlene. He clears his throat. “I mean, you know how TV can distort things,” he sort of mumbles.

Steve hums. He could be really cruel right now, but it doesn’t feel right, so he doesn’t. “Yeah, I suppose it does do that.”

“Well, uh, it was nice meeting you,” Bucky says quickly. “Dave, Darlene, see you later.”

David and Darlene both look confused as Bucky turns tail and takes long strides to get to the door.

Darlene sighs. “Probably still processing. He just got out of group. He’s a good guy. One of my favorites.”

Steve looks back to the front door. Bucky is long gone.

*

He’s not sure why he doesn’t immediately head home. He really should. Instead, Steve finds himself outside of Bucky’s building, again. 

Huddled near the peeling benches beneath a bare tree are Mikey and Bobby. They’re both wrapped up well for the cold weather, but for some reason Mikey is still shivering. The stench of marijuana hits Steve before he gets to them.

“Captain America!” Mikey says holding up his hand. Steve does the high five Mikey likes to do with him. “How you doing?”

“Pretty good,” Steve says. “How are you doing, Mikey? Bobby?”

“I’m great!” Mikey exclaims. His excitement around Steve is always a bit jarring but adorable. It reminds Steve of Dernier.

Bobby looks up at Steve from his wheelchair, squinting against the sun. “Doing alright, Cap. You volunteer down at the VA today?”

“Not really, but I did just sign up to be a volunteer, officially,” Steve says.

The nod Bobby gives is reminiscent of a proud father. Mikey’s smile is ear to ear.

“Don’t want to be a nuisance, I know you’re a busy fella,” Bobby says, a little cautiously, “but I’d sure love to hear more about your time with the Howling Commandos. I used to have a poster of all of you on my wall growing up.”

“Wow. That’s… that’s great, Bobby. What exactly did you want to know?” Steve asks. 

Bobby’s eyes are a little nervous, but hopeful. “Just a story. Any story. But only if you have time. I know you’re here to see Bucky.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m….” he pauses, unable to explain himself or why he’s at Bucky’s building.

Mikey looks like he wants to laugh. “What’s up with you two?”

Steve sighs, unsure of how to explain what he hasn’t worked out for himself.

The look Mikey and Bobby exchange is a bit too full of speculation for Steve’s comfort. He quickly breaks the silence. 

“So you want a story, huh? About the war, or---”

“Yeah, give us something juicy,” Mikey says, rubbing his hands together. “Something we can’t find in no history book.”

Once again it occurs to Steve how much Mikey reminds him of Dernier. Overly expressive, silly and sweet Dernier. It was precisely that combination that provided much of the Howling Commandos’ comedic relief during the war. 

“Okay, here’s one you definitely won’t read about. The guy it happened to never got a chance to tell this story. But if he were here, I think he’d want someone to hear it.”

Mikey and Bobby lean in, and just like that Steve is transported back to 1944. 

By the time he’s finished, the sun has moved a little farther down and Sterling has joined their circle. They’re all gasping with laughter and Mikey actually has tears running down his face. Steve feels ten pounds lighter. 

A loud bang of the building’s metal door has them all turning to see who is coming out. Steve’s smile immediately disappears. 

Stalking towards them is Bucky, wearing a hard scowl. 

“Hey, Bucky! Look who’s here!” Mikey calls, like Bucky isn’t already glaring daggers at Steve.

Bucky approaches the circle and glances around at his friends like they’ve betrayed him. Sterling is the only one who looks slightly contrite. Mikey and Bobby are both wearing curious, amused expressions. It doesn’t exactly help smooth things over.

Someone clears their throat. Steve thinks maybe it was Sterling. 

“You gonna stand there like a statue? Where’s your manners, Bucky?” Bobby fusses, but there’s a teasing lilt in his tone, like he knows Bucky is uncomfortable, and he’s enjoying it. 

“Manners? I left those back in Bagram with my arm,” Bucky says.

Sterling gives Bucky a fond smile. 

“I heard you guys laughing through my closed window. What’s going on?” Bucky asks, his eyes flashing, especially when they land on Steve.

“Steve was just telling us a really funny story about his friend,” Mikey exclaims. “Who knew Captain America was so funny!” he announces, like it’s a revelation that means a lot to him. 

It touches Steve more than it should and he ducks his head, feeling a bit bashful. Until he remembers Bucky is watching him. He lifts his head and gives a smug ‘ha, your friends like me’ look.

Bucky huffs. “Yeah, he’s a real riot.”

“So you two are on good terms now?” Bobby presses.

Steve shrugs. “I never really had a problem with _Bucky_.”

Bucky’s jaw is moving back and forth like he’s chewing on an insult, but he looks up with cool eyes and simply replies, “Yeah, we’re good. You guys were making something out of nothing.”

The furtive glances Bucky’s friends exchange suggests they’re not quite buying it, but no one argues with him.

There’s an awkward lull and Steve shifts, suddenly feeling more like an outsider. “Well fellas, it’s been fun, but I should probably get back.”

“Aww,” Bucky cooes with so much fake regret. “Is your weekly charity hour up already?” 

Someone coughs and Steve cuts his eyes to Bucky. “Actually, I have a few more minutes of charity left in me, if you need some. You seemed to really appreciate the last donation I made.”

“Ooooh snap!” Mikey says, covering his mouth in shock as Sterling turns away choking out surprised laughter. Bobby just sits there, gaping up at Steve and Bucky in disbelief.

Bucky’s face is the reddest Steve’s ever seen it, and his friends look like they’re struggling to control their glee. Steve feels a smile blooming on his lips. He doesn’t even try to fight it. Knowing he can push Bucky’s buttons just as much as Bucky pushes his is so very gratifying. 

“Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure,” Steve gives them all a nod. “Hope we can do this again.”

Bobby gives a sloppy salute. “Always an honor, Captain Rogers.”

Steve gives him a wink. 

Mikey holds up his hand again, and Steve slaps it. “You’re always welcome here, Cap. Don’t forget about us the next time you drop by to put in ‘charity work’ with Bucky.”

It’s impossible to miss Mikey’s emphasis on ‘charity work’--or his leer--and the day feels so much sweeter for it. 

Steve grins. “Will do, Mikey.”

He gives them all a little wave and walks away, but his enhanced hearing picks up Bucky muttering, “you guys suck.” The raucous laughter that follows can be heard by anybody. 

*

One week and two protests later, Steve completes his training as a volunteer office assistant at the front desk. He’s assigned to provide Darlene support on Tuesdays and Thursdays, on rotating shifts when he’s not obligated to SHIELD or saving the world. Darlene wears multiple hats - front desk greeter, intake point person, and mother, sister, friend to every veteran who walks into the VA. 

Steve actually enjoys his new position. Doing paper work for SHIELD is the bane of his existence, but at the VA Steve finds something almost meditative about making digital files, sorting, collating, and copying. Perhaps it’s the company; Darlene is funny and kind, but there’s also an awareness that he’s freeing up her energy so she can better serve those who need it. 

Since he started, the VA has picked up telephone inquiries and new visitors. _The New York Post_ ran an article about Captain America volunteering. Steve apologizes profusely and is wracked with guilt about the uptick in traffic, but both David and Darlene say the publicity is a good thing--it’s raising awareness, the VA has more volunteers than ever, and most importantly, more veterans are checking in for services.

The only person who seems to resent the extra attention Steve brings is Bucky. 

Which is good and bad.

It’s bad because Steve sees Bucky all the time now. Bucky is always escorting someone to their appointment, or talking to someone in the lobby, or laughing with someone right outside the VA doors. He’s everywhere, and everyone seems to love him. It’s hard for Steve to reconcile this friendly and supportive person with the jerk who treats Steve like he’s responsible for everything that’s wrong in the world.

However, when Bucky is angry, their sex is fantastic. 

It’s probably the reason why Steve always sticks around after the protests end. 

Today is their biggest protest yet. Many college kids are starting to become regular participants, along with friends and family of local veterans. There’s more press than ever, and even a few out-of-state news outlets show up. Steve directs it all to Bucky and the other designated speaker for today. 

Once the crowd thins out, Steve stands by waiting for Bucky to finish talking to a few remaining vets. Once he’s done, Bucky hops down from bench, still clutching the bullhorn. He gives Steve a bothered glance as he starts walking home. 

Steve follows, as he always does.

“Why do you do that?” Bucky asks.

“Do what?”

Bucky huffs. “Act all modest and shit when the cameras show up. Like you don’t like the press.”

“Because I really _don’t_ like it,” Steve says. “Do you see me giving a lot of interviews?” 

Bucky wrinkles his brow, thinking. “I don’t know. I do my best to avoid anything related to the Avengers. The way the media kisses all of your asses makes me wanna puke.”

Now he’s just trying to goad Steve, and Steve knows it. Steve should resist taking the bait, but he can’t help it. 

“Are you serious? They’re always criticizing us,” he argues. “Why do you think there’s a new commission to review our methods? Most of that is because of the way the media covers us.”

Bucky scoffs. “No. That’s called accountability, _Steve_.”

“It’s bullshit,” Steve blurts out.

Bucky actually stops to give him an surprised look. “Am I hearing right? Is Captain America actually coming out against personal accountability? Oh wait, I get it now. You think everyone should be held accountable for their actions, _except_ for you and your friends.”

Steve scowls. “No, that’s not it all. I’m against politicians using tragedy to further their agenda. The Avengers are the most equipped to help the city when there’s an attack, and now some politicians want to control us but can’t provide solutions for how to address the next major alien attack. If I’m wrong, by all means, please explain how.” 

Bucky gives Steve an unimpressed once-over, and grunts. Steve counts it as a win, and it surprises him how much relief floods him. If Bucky really sided with the politicians about regulating the Avengers’ right to save lives, it would probably kill Steve’s attraction. Bucky’s hot, but Steve has his principles.

As they reach Bucky’s building, Steve notices none of Bucky’s friends are around. “Where’s the fellas?”

Bucky shrugs. “I think they’re checking out that new church down on Atlantic. They serve hot lunches on Fridays.”

It hits Steve like a splash of cold water to the face. Bucky’s friends always appear so well adjusted and happy, it’s easy to forget that maybe they aren’t doing so well.

“Please stop,” Bucky sighs. “I can’t stand that puppy dog look you get. They’re grown men. They’re fine. Better than a lot of people, actually.”

As Bucky opens the front door, Steve tries to tamp down on the swirl of guilt and the desire to ask how he can help. 

“You know, you still didn’t answer the question,” Bucky says. “Why don’t you like cameras?” 

“Because that’s not why I do this,” Steve answers as he follows Bucky inside. “Besides, aren’t you the one who always says it’s important for veterans to have a platform? I’m trying to give them that.”

“Captain America saves the day once again,” Bucky says with thick sarcasm. “Not only does he defend the city with his trusty shield, but he gives veterans a voice. Where would we be without you?” 

“Make up your damn mind,” Steve snaps. “You complained when the cameras were focused on me, but when I step aside, you complain I’m being patronizing.”

Bucky shrugs. “Eh, maybe I just don’t like you.”

Steve glares at the back of Bucky’s head as he fiddles with the keys to his apartment. 

As soon as they’re inside, Bucky’s on him. He presses Steve into the door, his fingers digging and clutching as he attempts to climb Steve like a tree.

“So fucking tired of your missionary act,” he pants between rough kisses. “You’re no Messiah, Rogers. You’re just a…a…”

Steve brushes his lips along Bucky’s neck until he reaches his ear and whispers, “A what? Say it.” He grabs a nice handful of Bucky’s wonderful ass, giving it a good squeeze. 

Bucky shudders and pulls back. “A science experiment.”

The gears in Steve’s brain screech to a halt and for a millisecond he considers pushing Bucky off and walking out. But Bucky’s looking up at Steve with a challenging smirk like he’s just daring Steve to do something about it. 

This jerk. 

If that’s how he wants to play, Steve can do this all day.

He grabs Bucky’s left wrist, the metal still cool from the brisk early-Spring air, and holds it up before both of their eyes. “Takes one to know one.”

Bucky’s eyes bore into Steve and his upper lip curls into a snarl as he tries to pull his arm back. The arm is strong. Stronger than Steve ever expected, but Steve is stronger and pulls back, bringing Bucky flush against him.

“Asshole,” Bucky mutters, his lips so close Steve can almost taste them. He sounds pissed, but not enough to stop this train.

Steve is very familiar with the sentiment.

“You started it,” Steve whispers, leaning in. 

“Witty,” Bucky deadpans before closing the distance between them. 

Bucky kisses like he’s entering a boxing match--no gloves, just his mouth. And Steve is ready to go ten rounds with him. 

Somewhere along the way, Steve loses his shirt and belt, and Bucky ends up damn near naked save for his boxers.

Steve can’t control the smile taking over his face.

“Say one word and I’m kicking you out without any dick,” Bucky threatens. 

“I wasn’t gonna make fun of you. They’re cute,” Steve coos, reaching out to caress the soft cotton material of Bucky’s NASA astronaut boxers. “I didn’t know you were a fan of the space program.”

“Yeah well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Bucky huffs. “Now shut up and take out your monster cock.”

Steve snickers. “Why don’t you take it out for me?”

Bucky looks torn, his eyes darting from the prominent tent in Steve’s khakis to his face. “Just because you lead the Avengers doesn’t mean you can come in here and order me around.”

“You’re right,” Steve says, palming his own erection to relieve the growing throb there. “It’s your place, your rules.” 

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it,” Bucky says as he tracks the movement, and he licks his bottom lip. It’s all plump and red now, and Steve just wants to nibble on it. “Get these off.”

Bucky undoes the top button on Steve’s khakis, and tugs. Steve smacks his hands away, and then proceeds to take his time pushing his khakis down, enjoying the impatience vibrating from Bucky. His eyes are fixated on Steve’s crotch, like he doesn’t want to miss the grand reveal, which is flattering. It’s not like Bucky’s never seen Steve's dick before. 

“It’s only been a few days, Bucky. Did you miss me that much?” Steve asks, pushing off from the door, running his hand from his sternum down to his navel and stopping short on the hem of his boxers.

Bucky backs up a little and glares at Steve for a moment before waving him on. “Nobody likes a tease.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re kinda into it,” Steve says. He hooks his thumbs in his boxers and drags them down slowly, taking his khakis with them over his erection. 

It’s hard and flushed, and when it pops out Bucky bites his pouty red bottom lip, and it gives Steve ideas.

“Wanna taste it, don’t you?” he asks in a husky voice, stroking himself nice and slow to maximize the effect.

Bucky seems to consider it a moment and then looks up with narrowed eyes. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? To see me on my knees, like one of your little groupies? You better get one of them to suck your dick, ‘cause I’m not gonna be your bitch, Rogers.”

Steve frowns. “That’s pretty sexist. You just basically implied that cock-sucking is for women.”

“No I didn’t,” Bucky protests.

Steve nods. “Yes, and that men who do it are somehow less masculine. Not to mention the misogynist slur you used.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Bucky says in exasperation. “You know exactly what I meant.”

“No, I really don’t,” Steve says, walking forward. Bucky stiffens as if bracing for a confrontation. Then Steve sinks to his knees. “I think I need to teach you a lesson.”

Bucky's gulp is so big, Steve can hear and see it.

“I’m gonna suck your brains out through your dick,” Steve says matter-of-factly. “And when I’m done, I’m gonna put you to bed, ‘cause you’re not gonna be able to stand.”

The expression on Bucky’s face goes from guarded to confused. Steve loves surprising people, especially when they have very rigid ideas about who he is.

Scooting forward with renewed purpose, Steve looks up at Bucky from beneath his long lashes. He’s gained quite a bit of height and muscle, but the effect on Bucky is the same as it was on the nameless fellas he’d used to meet in back alleys back when Steve was skin and bones and had plenty of practice at giving suckjobs. 

Bucky’s holding himself rigid, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“You alright?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods slow and blinks a few times before moving closer. His hard erection bobs just inches from Steve’s face. 

It’s a nice dick. Steve can admit that much, even if it’s attached to a full-grown prick. He decides to get right to it, giving it a long lick from base to tip.

Bucky gasps, and his hand flies to Steve’s head to hold himself steady. It’s grounding, and sends a little thrill through Steve to hear Bucky so affected. He licks and kisses his entire length for several minutes, until Bucky starts cursing.

“Oh my god, just suck it already! You fucking tease. You think you’re so fucking hot, don’t you? Just…put it in your mouth…please.”

It’s hard to give a suckjob while smiling, but Steve is always up for a challenge. 

*

 

Today’s protest is much later in the afternoon, to accommodate the working people and college students who have expressed an interest in the cause. There’s a bigger crowd than usual, and even CNN shows up. 

Steve has begun to notice just how savvy Bucky is when it comes to the press. Bucky angles himself and the others strategically when the bullhorn is being used, and he’s very particular about which signs should be near the front. He’s orchestrated the entire protest so that no matter what is happening, the message will get across. Pepper Potts would be impressed. 

Several veterans get a chance to talk on the bullhorn, more than the usual. A few share painful stories of being rushed through care, sometimes treated like nuisances. Others praise their VA staff and doctors for top-notch care, but then lose composure when talking about the amount of time they had to wait to get services or how it cost them employment, relationships, and their mental health. 

Each testimonial frustrates Steve more than the last. It all makes him feel like jumping on his Harley and riding all the way down to D.C. to round up a few senators. At one point he’s vaguely aware that he’s gripping his sign so tightly the wood handle is starting to splinter in his hand.

“What do we want?” Bucky shouts.

“Better access!” Steve shouts back with the rest of the crowd.

“When do we need it?”

“Right fucking now!” 

Steve can feel the cameraman inching closer towards him, like an annoying fly that just won’t stop circling. He has no doubt that SHIELD’s PR team is gonna pitch a fit when the news broadcasts Captain America dropping the F-bomb, but he doesn’t care. That’s the kind of controversy that will generate more press and awareness. 

“You know how bad it’s gotten?” Bucky asks, pausing to make sure he has everyone’s undivided attention. God, he’s good at this. The way the bullhorn amplifies his deep smooth voice captures the attention of anyone passing by, even people in cars. 

“Even their precious poster boy, Captain America, agrees with us.”

Steve swallows as Bucky stabs the air with his index finger, pointing in his direction. “This guy, this guy right here….” Steve’s face feels like it’s burning up as several heads turn to look at him. “He’s everything they ever wanted--the _ultimate_ soldier. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have to go through any red tape to get medical care. And not just any medical care. Top of the line, ain’t that right?”

It stings a little, like an unexpected slap. Steve locks eyes with Bucky and sees the same hot anger he always does, and something else. A dare. 

Steve internally sighs. If Bucky thinks Steve would try to protect his ego and save face or try to defend the government, he is sorely mistaken. 

Accepting the challenge, Steve simply nods. The cameraman moves in even closer. Steve can see the big block red CNN letters in his peripheral vision.

“He’s right,” Steve says, loud and clear since he doesn’t have a bullhorn. It doesn’t matter; everyone grows quiet, and now all of the cameras are pointed at Steve. When he looks up, Bucky’s just watching and waiting like everyone else. It’s surprisingly encouraging. 

“I get top of the line medical care, whenever I need it. And everyone should get the same. When I hear that someone who served, who put their life on the line for this country, isn’t getting the care they need, it makes me very angry.”

There are many shouts of approval and encouragement as Steve continues. “This VA has an excellent staff, but there’s not enough of them to go around. I want everyone who is listening to call your congressional state representatives, both the House and Senate, and demand better for our veterans.”

A collective cheer goes up as many in the crowd shake their signs. Bucky gives Steve a curt nod, and then gets back on the bullhorn to lead the crowd in another chant. The cameras turn away from Steve, and he exhales.

An hour later the crowd is gone, and Steve’s standing by the bench, waiting for Bucky to hop down.

There’s less of a glare in his eyes, but he’s not smiling. 

“Looks like your showboating finally paid off,” Bucky says. “I think today’s protest is gonna go viral.”

“Hope so,” Steve says, trying to ignore the way his stomach flutters at the almost-compliment. Maybe from Bucky that’s as good as it gets.

They walk in a strangely comfortable silence until they reach the familiar trash-ridden courtyard of Bucky’s building. Mikey, Sterling, and Bobby are standing near the bare treelings, smoking.

“Hey, guys,” Bucky and Steve both say at the same time.

Bucky squints at Steve like he’s not sure if that was planned or not. Steve grins. 

The fellas all greet them with a nod and smile, and today there’s a notable omission of “Hey Cap!” or “It’s Captain America!” 

Steve kind of loves it. 

The smell of marijuana hangs heavy in the air. Mikey passes a joint to Bobby, who takes a huge pull from it and then coughs like he’s choking. 

Sterling waves it his way impatiently. “Why do you always hit it so hard?” 

After clearing his throat, Bobby spits to the side. “‘Cause it’s the best painkiller around. Beats that big ass needle they keep trying to stick me with.”

Mikey gives a ‘can you believe this guy’ head shake. “I wish they had a needle for the shit I have. You actually have benefits, Bobby, but you don’t use them ‘cause you’re a big ole’ scaredy cat.”

“I’m not scared, just rational. If you saw that needle, you’d take the joint too,” Bobby argues, holding out his hand for another puff.

“No, you’re messing up the rotation,” Mikey chastises, taking the joint from Sterling. “Hey, you guys want a hit?” 

Bucky gives Steve a skeptical once over and accepts the joint. Steve watches as he brings it to his pouty lips and takes a deep pull. 

Over the past few weeks, Steve has developed a ‘thing’ for Bucky’s lips. They randomly pop into Steve’s head at the most inopportune times, like when he’s in a high profile SHIELD meeting, or right before a mission. 

When Bucky puckers up to blow out a plume of smoke, all the sinful thoughts Steve’s been trying to block out push their way through.

Then Bucky’s nudging him, offering up the joint, his eyes twinkling with another challenge. 

Steve frowns as he looks down at it. “No thanks. It won’t have any effect on me. And I don’t smoke...anything.”

“Of course, you don’t, Mr. Perfect,” Bucky grumps.

“Mr. Perfect!” Mikey points between them. “Saw how you played that at the protest. You two make a great team.”

“Twenty bucks says it’s already trending on YouTube,” Sterling says.

“You were there?” Steve asks in surprise, because he never sees these three at the protests, or at the VA at all, for that matter.

“For some of it,” Bobby says, shrugging. “We bailed after your speech.”

Sterling winces. “Bucky doesn’t wanna hear this, but we don’t think protesting is gonna amount to anything.”

“But it sure is fun watching him work up a crowd.” Mikey smiles. “You got them eating out of your hand.”

Bucky huffs. “Sometimes I wonder why I hang out with you losers. For your information, we got major network coverage today. A CNN cameraman was practically drooling all over Steve.”

Steve turns to look Bucky in the eyes. “Jealous?”

Bucky’s friends all snicker.

“I’m serious, guys,” Bucky says, ignoring Steve. “We’re making waves.”

Bobby sighs. “Those guys in Washington ain’t gonna suddenly give a shit just because Captain America made a nice speech. No offense, Steve.”

Steve waves his hand. “None taken. And I hope you’re wrong. But if turns out you’re right, I’ll personally go to Washington and give my speech right in front of Congress.”

“You’d really do that?” Mikey asks in awe, as Bobby’s eyes grow wide.

“Absolutely,” Steve says earnestly. 

Sterling nods in approval while Mikey gives Steve a fist bump.

Bucky yawns. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Bobby scrunches up his face at Bucky. “Geez, now who’s the buzzkill?” 

“Don’t pay him no mind,” Mikey says, glancing to Bucky. “It’s just his fucked up way of flirting.”

A surprised laugh escapes Steve. “ _Now_ you tell me?”

“See you later, assholes,” Bucky says, turning to go inside.

Steve lingers for a few moments to avoid looking like a puppy chasing after Bucky. But Bucky’s friends see right through him. 

“Go on, now,” Bobby says, shooing Steve away. “Don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

Mikey and Sterling’s smiles are too knowing. Steve gives them all a quick wave and a ‘see you later’ before they notice his face is burning. 

Steve gets to the top of the stairs. Bucky’s door is wide open. Steve walks to the threshold, staring at Bucky’s back. 

“You coming in or what?”

Steve quickly steps inside and closes the door. He toes off his shoes while watching Bucky. Normally, Bucky would be all over Steve by now, but he’s just standing there, his metal and flesh hand both balled in tight fists.

“Are you alright?” Steve asks warily.

“You can’t do that, okay?” Bucky says, finally turning around, his eyes filled with concern. It’s an unfamiliar look on him, and Steve is unprepared for how it makes his stomach clench. 

“Can’t do what?” Steve asks.

“I told you to stop making promises you can’t keep,” Bucky grits out. “It’s one thing to feed me your save-the-world bullshit, but don’t fuck over my friends.”

Steve’s concern for Bucky curdles into irritation. “Are you talking about what I said about speaking to Congress? I meant that.”

Bucky stalks forward, his jaw tight, the worry in his eyes completely gone now, consumed by a storm of condemnation. 

He jabs his finger into Steve’s chest as he spits. “You’re full of shit! Getting my friends all worked up, feeding them your propaganda.”

“Propaganda?” Steve exclaims, bemused by this accusation. “Since when is speaking out on behalf of veterans propaganda? Do you even know what that word means, Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes narrow into slits. “What I know is that you’re a puppet for SHIELD and the U.S. government. The same government that’s shafting us. How the fuck can you promise to confront Congress, when Congress funds SHIELD?” 

“It doesn’t matter who funds SHIELD,” Steve says in a raised voice. “You think I care about money? It’s never been about that for me.”

“Oh, right.” Bucky sighs deeply. “It’s about the greater good!” 

“What exactly is your problem with me?” Steve demands, his irritation bubbling over. 

“You’re a liar!” Bucky spits. “A liar who represents liars. _That’s_ why I don’t like you.” 

“I am not a liar!” Steve practically shouts, hating how much he needs Bucky to believe him. 

Bucky shakes his head. “Everything about you is a lie. Captain America is a symbol. It’s all marketing, always has been. Are you gonna stand there and deny that?”

It’s frustrating how much truth lies in Bucky’s words, and yet he’s wrong. So wrong.

Steve runs a hand over his face. “It’s more complicated than that, Bucky. Yes, Captain America is a symbol, but that doesn’t mean--”

“Right,” Bucky interrupts. “And then you come around here and cozy up to all of my friends like you’re some average Joe. Like you ever had both of your legs blown off like Bobby, or have chronic memory problems like Sterling. And you have no idea how shitty life is when you have PTSD and live on the street like Mikey.”

All of Steve’s anger evaporates as he tries to process what Bucky just said. “Mikey’s homeless? Where does he sleep? I can--”

“Just stop, okay?” Bucky says, holding up his hands. “Stop pretending you understand or that you can save us. Because you can’t. And stop building up their hopes. You see how they look up to you? What are you gonna tell Bobby when SHIELD says you can’t speak to Congress?”

“I don’t care what SHIELD says,” Steve says in a voice that’s on the edge of breaking. “I’ll do it anyway, because it needs to be done.” 

Bucky sucks his teeth dismissively and looks away. This entire conversation is rubbing Steve the wrong way. Bucky always pushes his buttons, but this time, he’s poking at a raw and festering wound that Steve’s been trying to ignore for a long time. 

“My name, my face, my words, are often misused,” Steve says. “But don’t ever confuse me with the people who misappropriate my image. I’m as real as they come, Bucky. Maybe you just can’t handle that.”

Steve turns to walk away.

“Yeah okay, go then,” Bucky says like he doesn’t care, but his voice is a pitch higher and holds none of its usual menace. “No one asked you to come up here, anyway.”

Steve stops to give Bucky a long, considering look. “And you accuse _me_ of being dishonest? We both know why I’m here. We’ve been doing this for weeks. When are you going to grow up and admit it?”

Bucky scowls and opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut. When he turns his eyes away, a weight of disappointment hits Steve heavily in the chest and throws him off balance.

It doesn’t make sense. He shouldn’t care.

It’s just sex. 

So why does he care? 

Shit. 

The sinking feeling in Steve’s chest snakes its way down, leaving a sick trail of regret. Of all of the reckless things he’s done in his life, and there have been many, developing a crush on a fuck buddy who hates his guts ranks up there with jumping out of a plane without a parachute. 

And Bucky still isn’t saying anything. 

Well then.

Steve may have inadvertently caught feelings for the wrong guy, but he’s not going to stand around like a fool. He intends to go home and lick his wounds in private. 

“Guess I’ll see you around the VA,” Steve sighs, opening the door.

It slams shut with a loud bang before he can fully open it. Steve blinks and turns around. Bucky has his metal hand near Steve’s head while his flesh hand boxes Steve in on the other side. Normally being caged in like this would prime Steve for a fight, but when Bucky’s close like this, Steve has a Pavlovian response - he thinks of sex. 

“Let me tell you something,” Bucky says in a low, dangerous tone.

Steve braces himself for an insult that crosses the line, something that will irrevocably break this weird fragile connection they have.

Bucky goes silent. 

“What?” Steve asks impatiently. 

“I hate you,” Bucky hisses.

There’s a desperation to it, like a last declaration before surrender. Steve’s heart beats a little faster, hoping it is. 

“Do you really?” Steve asks, searching Bucky’s eyes. 

Bucky leans in, and Steve wants to pull him in all the way. 

“Yes,” Bucky says. The words sound harsh, but Bucky’s face reads confused and conflicted. “I hate you a lot.”

The childish declaration said in such a bratty tone makes Steve want to laugh. He struggles to hold it in but it tumbles out anyway as a snicker-snort that quickly snowballs into outright laughter. 

“You think this is funny?” Bucky asks.

“Yes!” Steve says, still chuckling. “Bucky, if this is your way of showing hate, I want you to hate me _so hard_.”

Bucky’s shoulders slump as all of the fight bleeds out of him. When he starts divesting Steve of his belt and unbuttoning his khakis, Steve is happy to assist him. 

“I’m gonna hate you until you’re fucking cross-eyed,” Bucky says in a raspy voice.

As he sinks down to his knees a euphoric giddiness spreads throughout Steve.

“Thought you were too good for suckjobs?” Steve asks breathlessly. 

The speed and voracity with which Bucky yanks his khakis and boxers down make Steve gasp. When Bucky takes hold of the base of his cock, and licks those fantastic lips, Steve knows it’s already over. He’s going to lose this round. 

“Think I don’t know what you’ve been up to?” Bucky asks. “You've been trying to use your cocksucking skills to wrap me around your finger.” He gives Steve’s dick a nice tug that makes his eyelids flutter. “I mean, you are a great cocksucker, Steve, I’ll give you that. But me? I’m the best.”

Before Steve can find a retort, those sexy, pouty lips that he’s been daydreaming about wrap around the head of his dick. Steve’s eyes roll back and everything outside of Bucky and his beautiful mouth blurs out of focus. 

*

Steve doesn’t really remember them moving to Bucky’s mattress, but the crick in his lower back and the lumps beneath him are familiar. Cautiously, he blinks, waiting for the light to hit his eyes, but it never comes. 

Bucky’s entire apartment is dark, save for the fluorescent street light streaming through the blinds and casting thin streaks along the wall. Steve does the math--he’s lost more than a few hours. That lethargy he’s been experiencing a lot lately is back, and he’s in no rush to get up.

He runs a hand over his body and finds he’s still naked. It’s strange, because he barely recalls anything after coming in Bucky’s mouth. 

Soft snores draw his attention and Steve turns his head carefully to look. Bucky’s lying curled up on his side, facing Steve, his metal hand positioned out in front of his head like an offering. 

Even in the dark, its shiniest parts are visible. Steve stares for a while. In the absence of light, the silver takes a backseat. The golden strips stand out in parallel lines along the knuckles like golden piano keys. They match the metal on the first joints of his fingers. In fact, in the sea of silver and grey carbonite, Bucky’s golden joints all stand out. It’s a beautiful work of art, and if Steve still drew, he’d put it to paper. He doesn’t even realize he’s caressing it until Bucky startles.

Snatching his hand back, Steve gulps, appalled and ashamed at his behavior. He holds himself stiff, bracing for Bucky’s wrath. 

But there’s a deep, warm chuckle coming from Bucky’s side of the bed. “Told you I was good.”

Steve groans and rolls over onto his side to face Bucky. Even in his exasperation, Steve can’t deny he’s glad to still be here, in Bucky’s bed. It’d be nice to reach out, to pull Bucky close, and tell him. But Steve has no way of knowing if he and Bucky are on the same page. 

He wants to ask, but something stops him. If this is just sex for Bucky, Steve’s not ready to hear that out loud. Just the thought alone sends his mind into a frenzied state of anxiety crammed with a dozen different questions, all beginning with ‘what-if’. 

With their noses barely two inches apart, they lie in silence. Steve tries to make out Bucky’s face in the dark. 

It’s nice, until Steve’s stomach disrupts the quiet with an embarrassingly loud sound. 

Bucky snickers. “Hungry?”

“Yes. I missed dinner. How did that happen?” Steve asks.

“I already told you…”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, it was great, but now I’m hungry, and I suspect you are too. How about I order us something?”

“I got food,” Bucky says guardedly. 

“You eat packaged noodles everyday, Bucky. Let me treat you.”

There’s a long stretch of silence that has Steve regretting the offer; perhaps he offended Bucky.

“Chinese,” Bucky says hesitantly, and then with more confidence, “Steak and broccoli with an eggroll. There’s a place around the corner. Number’s on the fridge.”

Steve grins. “Perfect.”

Bucky gets up and turns on the television while Steve calls the Chinese place that’s pinned by magnets on Bucky’s refrigerator. No deliveries, just take out.

As he looks at the different eatery magnets there, Steve is struck by the absence of other keepsakes in Bucky’s apartment. There are no pictures, no souvenirs, or art indicating what he cares about.

Steve runs out to get the food and pointedly ignores Bobby’s knowing grin and Mikey’s whistle. When he returns, Bucky’s table is set. Two tall glasses of ice water. Steve smiles and sets the food down for them to parcel out. They eat in comfortable silence that Steve marvels at, until Bucky breaks it.

“Thanks for the food,” he says quietly. 

“No problem,” Steve is quick to say. He looks over to the window for a moment and has a sudden impulse he wants to act on. “Hey, Bucky?” 

Bucky looks up, watching Steve warily. Steve tries to ignore every worst-case scenario that flashes through his head, and wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his khakis. It’s been a good day so far, so he’s just going to go for it.

“I was thinking, this was a really heavy meal. I’m pretty full and…” Steve swallows.

“And it’s getting late,” Bucky says slowly, watching Steve closely.

“Yes, it’s getting late,” Steve agrees, his heart dancing nervously in his chest. 

Bucky sits back and his eyes slowly take Steve in like he’s never seen him before. “Yeah, okay. You can stay over.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, carefully schooling his expression to neutral. Inside he’s clapping like a five year old.

They move to Bucky’s mattress and watch a marathon of ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos,’ since Bucky doesn’t have Netflix or cable. It’s awkward looking at the TV from the floor, and once again Steve thinks of how resilient Bucky must be, and how he deserves better.

The show isn’t really that funny, but Steve feels at ease and unpressured to laugh along. There’s very few people he can comfortably relax around, especially when nothing is being said. 

When the 11 o’clock news comes on, Bucky gets up to brush his teeth. Steve gives him a little smile when he emerges from the bathroom. 

“Shut up,” Bucky snips. “Everyone should take care of their teeth.”

“Of course,” Steve says, trying not to smile.

They strip down to their boxers and Steve tries to get comfortable on Bucky’s lumpy mattress while Bucky turns out the light to join him.

For a few moments, the only sound is the traffic outside.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Bucky blurts out. 

“Huh?”

“Just because I’m letting you sleep over, don’t mean I’m going sweet on you. You’re still an asshole.”

Steve grins. “Spoken like a true jerk.” 

Bucky’s pearly whites shine in the dark. “Well at least I’m not some super roided-out punk.”

“I do not take nor do I condone steroids!” Steve protests.

“Steve, you’re a walking steroid.”

Steve scoffs.

“No, no listen,” Bucky says emphatically, like he’s pointing out an important discovery, which is absurd since everyone knows Steve’s story. “Think about it. They invented a special steroid to inject into you and then they microwaved you so it could mutate your body. Steve, you’re a mutant.”

“And you call _me_ the asshole,” Steve says as his pulls away, his good mood souring.

Bucky’s metal hand reaches out to pull Steve back, and Steve fights it for a moment before giving in and going with it. Bucky slides closer too, until his nose touches Steve’s. 

Steve barely breathes as he waits for whatever comes next. Bucky seems to be full of surprises today. 

“I didn’t mean nothing by it,” Bucky says, so quietly Steve’s glad he has super hearing. “I’m just… I used to be better at talking. Apparently getting blown up fucks up your people skills.”

“You forget who you’re talking to,” Steve says.

Bucky huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah, okay. I know you’ve probably seen some fucked up shit. I get it. I wasn’t really making fun of you just now. My mouth just sorta runs sometimes. Besides, I have a bionic arm. If you’re a mutant, then so am I.”

This rare display of self-deprecation is as precious as it is irritating. Steve wants to simultaneously soothe Bucky and shake him.

He sighs, “Bucky, you’re not a mutant, and neither am I. We’re just different. And I’m glad that we…”

Finishing that sentence feels dangerous. Contrary to what his teammates think, Steve does have some sense of self-preservation. Bucky scoots even closer like it will encourage Steve to continue. But a lump has formed in Steve’s throat, and he can’t really talk around it. 

“You’re glad that we what?” Bucky whispers.

Steve rubs his forehead against Bucky's, back and forth, hoping that says enough.

They listen to each other breathe for several minutes, and Steve’s nervous heart slows down in the comfortable silence. He’s starting to drift into sleep when he’s shaken out of it by the sound of Bucky’s _giggle_. 

He’s actually giggling, and it vibrates through Steve’s skin.

“What’s so funny?” 

Bucky pulls away and stretches out his arms, hitting Steve right in the chest and lets out a loud hoot. Steve frowns, bewildered.

“I’m fucking Captain America!” Bucky announces to no one. “Goddamn! Steve Rogers is my fuck buddy! If only grandma could see me now!”

Steve pushes Bucky’s hand away and snatches more of the duvet to cover himself. “Ugh, you really need to work on your pillow talk, Buck.”

Bucky tries to snatch the duvet back, but Steve isn’t letting go. They dig into the tug of war, determined to not to lose, until a loud ripping sound cuts through the silence. Both of them fall back a little as the duvet splits right down the middle, sending a flurry of feathers falling all over them.

“Nice going,” Bucky mutters. 

It’s really hard to see his expression clearly in the dark, but Steve tries to pick up any hint that he’s destroyed something of sentimental value. It could just be about money. 

“I’m so sorry, Bucky. I can get you another one,” Steve says earnestly, hoping this doesn’t set them back. 

“Okay then,” Bucky says. “I want the best bed set the government can buy. Top of the line. You hear me?”

Steve exhales, relieved. “Yeah, fine. Top of the line.”

Bucky scoops up a pile of feathers and proceeds to dump them over Steve’s head. 

It catches Steve off guard, and he flails for a moment, trying to ward the feathers off , but a few land in his mouth and he has to spit them out. 

“What the hell, Bucky?”

Bucky’s wide grin gleams in the dark. “You had that coming.”

Steve grouses a curse under his breath and tries to get comfortable in the mess of feathers they’re lying in. 

“This ain’t half bad,” Bucky says with a warm sigh, sidling up until his knees and arm brush against Steve.

It’s not quite cuddling, but if Steve closes his eyes, he can pretend. It’s stupid and foolish and there are all sorts of alarm bells going off in his head, telling him this will end in a trainwreck. But laying next to Bucky feels so damn good and natural - minus the feathers. 

Shit.

“Night,” Bucky whispers.

Steve restrains himself from slinging an arm over Bucky and pulling him close. 

“Goodnight, Bucky.” 

 

*

 

That weekend, their protest trends on both Twitter and YouTube. On Monday, Steve gets called into Fury’s new New York office at Federal Plaza, fully prepared for a reprimand. Instead, Fury just gives Steve a ‘you could have warned us,’ and a reminder to keep SHIELD in the loop whenever he talks to the press. 

That’s it. 

Steve actually leaves surprised, and quite pleased.

*

On Tuesday, Steve puts his time in at the VA. It’s late afternoon when he spots Bucky’s familiar green army jacket and Mets cap just beyond the glass front door.

If Bucky’s crossed arms and pacing are any indication, he’s quite agitated. When Steve walks out, Bucky stops to give a baleful glare. 

“Hey Bucky,” Steve says warily.

“Don’t hey me, Steve,” Bucky snaps. “Or should I call you ‘Daddy’ now? Is that what you want?”

The word ‘Daddy’ is so out of left field, Steve has to ask Bucky to repeat himself.

“You heard me,” Bucky says. “Don’t try that innocent act. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Steve lifts his hands. “No, actually, I don’t.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky nods and turns around, almost stomping back up the street towards his apartment. 

Steve’s stomach does a queasy flip as he follows Bucky. He has no idea what he could have possibly done to piss him off this time. 

They pass Mikey, Bobby, and Sterling on the way to the building. Bucky gives them a head nod and keeps moving. Steve waves but stays close behind. He would love to stop and chat, but he’s more curious about what has Bucky so agitated. 

Bucky mumbles as he climbs the stairs. Steve catches bits of it. Things like “kept man” and “whore”. By the time they reach Bucky’s apartment, Steve is truly baffled. 

Bucky unlocks the door, opens it dramatically, extending his flesh arm towards the interior in mockery of a welcome. 

Steve throws him a puzzled glance as he steps inside. 

Sitting in the middle of the room is the bed Steve ordered. It looks even better than it did in the catalog, with it’s slick grey lacquer finish. It’s surrounded by a walk-on platform with embedded lights along the railing. The two-toned grey headboard has a night light and attached nightstands on either side. In the center of it sits a queen-sized premium posturepedic plush pillow-top mattress, outfitted with the best grey, black, and red bed set Steve could find. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks. “You don’t like the colors?” 

Bucky slams the door and points down at the bed. 

“I’m not your fucktoy! You want a sugar baby? They have websites for that! Or better yet, ask your friend Tony Stark for a referral, I’m sure he can find you a high class call boy, but I am not for sale!”

Bucky’s practically shaking with anger, and he looks a little deranged, even for him.

His response to the gift is so unexpected, Steve is rendered temporarily speechless.

“You hear me? I’m not gonna be your kept man,” Bucky repeats, pointing in Steve’s face.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t trying to buy you, Bucky. I promised to get new covers. But when I started looking around for a bed set, all I could think about were the lumps in that crappy mattress and the crick in my neck. I didn’t buy this bed for you. I bought it for me because I’m tired of fucking you on the floor.” 

Bucky walks around the bed slowly. “So why’s it so low to the ground, then? Admit it, you love fucking me on the floor. Makes you feel all big and powerful. That’s why you always top. This swanky bed is just a way to ease your guilt about it.”

Steve groans loudly. “What is your deal with sexual positions and power? You got some real hangups, pal.”

“You always top, Steve. Am I wrong?” Bucky asks 

“If I let you top me in this bed, would that make you feel better about it?” Steve asks. 

Bucky huffs. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I don’t want you treating me like I’m fucking Julia Roberts in _Pretty Woman_!”

“Fine,” Steve says. “But if we’re going to be sleeping together, I want to be able to have sex with you without the mattress sliding across the floor or waking up with my neck twisted. Is that alright with you, Bucky?”

There’s a few beats of sulking silence before Bucky mutters. “Yeah, okay…but no more gifts.”

Steve toes off his shoes and begins to unbutton his blue Oxford. “Alright. No more gifts.” He strips off his khakis and boxers and begins to walk butt naked towards the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks.

“Cleaning up. I’ll be back,” he calls as he disappears into the bathroom.

Steve takes a quick and very thorough shower and comes back out, slightly wet. Bucky doesn’t appear to have moved at all. But there’s a dark, hungry look in his eyes as he stares at Steve’s body. 

Despite the fancy new nightstand attachments, the lube still sits on the floor. Beside it is a very sleek and new-looking Mac laptop. Steve has never seen it in Bucky’s place before and it looks out of place. So many questions pop into his head, like how someone who’s barely getting by can afford a fancy laptop. But Steve doesn’t want to break the mood or get into an argument, so he just ignores it and picks up the lube.

“You know, this bed has several storage compartments,” he says, flipping the cap.

“I must be moving up in the world,” Bucky replies. “I can finally have my own designated sex drawer.”

Steve drops down onto the bed, on all fours, and pours a large glob of it over his left hand. The mattress is soft but firm, which makes leaning forward on his forearms and spreading his legs much easier. 

Reaching back with two slick fingers, Steve begins to open himself. His head drops as his fingers breach his entrance. It feels better than it usually does, probably because he’s prepping for Bucky’s nice dick while Bucky’s watching.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks in a far away voice, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. 

“What’s it look like?” Steve asks, peeking out around his shoulder.

Bucky doesn’t seem to know where to look. His eyes keep darting from Steve’s face to what he’s doing with his fingers. There’s a prominent bulge in Bucky’s jeans, and Steve can just picture Bucky taking it out to push into him.

He lets out a moan at the thought, and moans again when both of his slick fingers sink in to the third knuckles.

“Jesus,” Bucky breathes, unzipping his jeans hastily to pull out his dick. 

As he moves closer, Steve looks back, but Bucky’s focus is on Steve’s ass.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky says in a low and husky voice that Steve commits to memory. “Look at you and that fucking perfect ass of yours. Like a goddamn centerfold.”

Steve hums, new warmth spreading all over him. Bucky never gives him compliments, and to hear such praise only makes Steve want to work that much harder. He presses a third finger into himself and gasps at the way it stretches him.

Bucky’s practically standing over him now, stroking his cock with his flesh hand.

“Just waiting to be filled, aren’t you? Those fingers ain’t gonna do it. You need this dick in you, don’t you?”

Steve stifles another moan and nods. Bucky’s filthy mouth is making him feel dirty and wanton. He spreads his legs a little more and starts rocking back onto his fingers.

“Yeah, I know. I know what you need,” Bucky says. “When’s the last time you been fucked? Huh, Stevie?” 

It’s hard to formulate an answer, and Steve stops trying when he feels two hands, one metal, one flesh, palming his ass to hold him open.

“It don’t matter. I’m gonna give it you good. That’s it,” Bucky says roughly. “Get yourself nice and loose for me.”

Encouraged, Steve drives his fingers deeper until he feels Bucky’s hands leave his skin. He pauses to look back, and then feels the sharp sting of a metal palm striking him. The hardness of it lights up the left side of his ass. Steve’s mouth drops open in shock and his dick throbs even harder. 

When he looks back this time, he sees Bucky staring right at him, his pale blue eyes darker than ever. 

“You ready for me?”

Steve nods quickly. “Yes. Yes, Bucky.”

When Bucky goes to his milk crate shelf to retrieve a condom, Steve mentally applauds. It’s taken a few weeks, but finally Bucky’s investing in his own safety.

The mattress sinks as Bucky climbs fully onto the bed to get behind him. Two hands, one metal, one flesh, grip Steve’s hips and pull him back. The thick fullness of Bucky’s hard dick pressed against his entrance is too tempting. Steve wiggles, urging Bucky to get on with it.

Bucky chuckles, low and warm, and slaps Steve on the ass again. “So greedy. Here we go.”

A silent gasp falls from Steve’s lips as Bucky presses forward. Then he stops, and it’s incredibly frustrating so Steve grunts and pushes back, forcing the breach. They both gasp and freeze. Steve’s jerked off many times to the thought of Bucky inside of him, but the real thing is much more intense than he imagined. Overcome with a sudden urge to be drilled hard, Steve rolls his hips to encourage Bucky to move.

“Come on,” he urges. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck yourself,” Bucky asks.

Steve whips his head around to look back at Bucky. The jerk is grinning with his arms behind his head as if he has no intention of moving.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Steve bites his lip and starts bouncing back and forth on Bucky’s length, taking as much pleasure from it as he can without any help. 

Of course it’s not enough. Steve wants, no _needs_ , Bucky’s hands on him. He wants Bucky to put his hand on Steve’s neck, take the reins, and go in deep. 

“Goddamn, Steve, that sounds hot,” Bucky says. Steve ducks his head, embarrassed that he said all of that out loud. 

Bucky falls over his back and sinks his teeth into Steve’s shoulder, sending a shudder through Steve’s entire body. 

“Since you put like that, I have to oblige,” Bucky says.

His wet lips trail down Steve’s back. Then a calloused hand closes around the back of Steve neck, and the warm metal of Bucky’s left hand grips Steve’s hip and Bucky starts really fucking him. 

Steve lets his head fall once again and just _feels_. With the sound of skin slapping skin and the way Bucky’s holding him, Steve falls into a blissful trance he hasn’t experienced since 1941. 

God, he’s missed this - taking someone into his body, the feeling of being completely stuffed.

Soon, _too soon_ , Steve’s balls draw up and his body gets away from him, meeting Bucky’s thrusts in a race to orgasm. He’s on the edge, caught between desperate need and trying to draw out the feeling of being filled. But when Bucky’s strokes becomes erratic and he hits Steve’s prostate again, it sends a jolt through Steve. He shouts out Bucky’s name and comes untouched, his entire body shaking. 

Bucky follows him just a few strokes later, stilling and gripping Steve’s hips so tight, it’s sure to leave bruises. A heavy weight falls over Steve’s back and Steve can feel Bucky’s heartbeat through his back.

It feels good. 

They stay like that for a few moments, until it becomes uncomfortable. The sticky mess underneath Steve and the feel of Bucky softening in his ass demand for them to clean up. Steve shifts a little, and Bucky takes the hint and slowly withdraws. 

Steve rolls over. Bucky’s staring down at him with a strange expression that Steve doesn’t know how to read. Then he rises and goes to the bathroom. 

Steve listens as the toilet flushes and the water runs in the sink. When Bucky comes back out with a washcloth, Steve expects him to drop it onto him. Instead, Bucky sits on the bed and slowly begins to wipe away the come on Steve’s legs and the comforter. 

“Can’t believe you messed up my new sheets,” Bucky says.

Steve tries not to smile when he says, “Sorry, Buck. I’ll make sure never to do that again.”

“Don’t you dare,” Bucky says emphatically. “Fuck these sheets. We’re doing that again. And again.”

Steve knows he’s coming down off a sex-high and he shouldn’t read into it, but the way Bucky’s looking down at him is giving his stomach butterflies. 

In those pale blue eyes, Steve can see a future with them fucking like bunnies, and then waking up, eating pancakes, making signs for more protests at the VA, and then coming back to Bucky’s place to do it all over again. 

Can Bucky see it too? Is that what he means, or is he just talking about sex?

The little smile on Bucky’s face is certainly encouraging.

“Your house, your rules.”

“Except for the part where you buy me a bed,” Bucky says with one raised eyebrow.

Steve groans and runs a palm over his face. “If you really don’t like it, I’ll take it back.”

When Bucky doesn’t reply, Steve frowns and looks up at him. Bucky’s caressing the mattress with his flesh hand and studying the lacquer side panels. 

“Actually...it’s not bad.”

Steve knows he shouldn’t be so transparent, but damn it, Bucky deserves nice things and he’s glad to hear that the bed wasn’t a completely wrong-footed idea.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Now slide over. I’m beat.” 

Bucky stands and turns out the light. The room is completely dark, save for the light from the streetlamp streaming in. Steve turns over just as Bucky slides in underneath the sheets to join him. 

It’s so tempting to reach out, to really cuddle, but even after incredible sex, it feels like it may be too intimate. Steve’s sex-high disintegrates and settles into doubt as he thinks about the limits of a fuck buddy arrangement and all of the implicit rules they’ve never discussed. 

There’s an insistent tug on his arm and Steve exhales as the dark cloud of doubt breaks. He scoots closer to follow Bucky’s silent order. They twist and toss to adjust until Steve is on his back and Bucky lies half on top of him. 

Steve tries to breathe normally and will his heart not to jump out of his chest as Bucky’s head settles right between his pecs. He can definitely get used to this.

“Goodnight,” Bucky mumbles.

Steve runs his hand over Bucky’s soft hair and down his back where he keeps it.

“Night, Bucky.”

*  
The sirens are louder than usual. There are always sirens in this part of Brooklyn, but these are too loud. They sound like they’re coming from the courtyard. Steve’s eyes snap open and he jostles Bucky as he tries to sit up.

“What?” Bucky grouses.

Steve’s body begins to thrum with adrenaline as he slides out from beneath Bucky to stand. Bucky’s apartment is bathed in red and blue light streaming in from outside. Steve goes to the window and pulls up the blinds. The sirens have stopped now, but the lights still flash.

“It’s nothing,” Bucky sighs from beneath a pillow. “Probably just Denny overdosing again.”

Bucky’s words blindside Steve like an accidental flyball at a baseball game. It _aches_ to hear Bucky speak of such things so casually.

“Who’s Denny?” Steve asks, because drug addict or not, no one’s almost-death should ever erase their humanity. 

“One of the guys…well, he used to be. He’s too far gone now to really hang out.” 

Bucky’s sitting up now, and Steve is reminded of a CK Purandare painting as he takes in the way the blue and red lights color Bucky’s sad expression.

“He overdoses like twice a month, at least,” Bucky sighs. “I used to worry about it, but he always snaps back. Seriously, come back to bed.” 

It doesn’t seem right, to sleep through someone’s overdose. Steve resolves to stand by at least until the paramedics can get the guy into their van. 

But when he peers back down, he sees Bobby, sitting right on the outside the perimeter where everyone is gathered. He’s waving his hands up at Steve and mouthing something that’s hard to hear through the thick glass of the window.

“Bucky…it’s Bobby,” Steve says urgently.

Bucky jumps from the bed and rushes to the window. Bobby keeps shouting, and Steve leans in, straining to hear with his enhanced hearing. 

“Mikey,” Steve says. “He says, ‘come down it’s Mikey’.”

“Shit,” Bucky whispers. 

He and Steve hurry to get dressed. Bucky finishes first. He sprints out of the door, leaving it open. Steve follows and closes it. 

Bucky is standing next to Bobby, they're as close as they can get. Steve walks over to join them. His chest tightens when he sees what they’re watching. 

Mikey’s face has cuts all over it, his lip is split open and one of his eyes is swollen shut. There’s blood all over his shirt and jeans. But worse than that, this is the first time Steve’s really seen Mikey without his bomber jacket, and it’s alarming. His deep brown arms are unnaturally skinny and there are track marks there that tell a story Steve didn’t want to know. He swallows as they lift him into the van. 

The ambulance’s sirens scream back into life as it takes off. They stand in silence, watching the lights fade into the clear dark night.

“He was supposed to stay with Sterling tonight,” Bobby says. “I didn’t know.”

“Know what, Bobby? What happened?” Bucky asks with a desperation in his voice Steve never wants to hear again. 

He wants to reach out, hold Bucky's hand, give him comfort, but isn’t sure if he’s allowed right now. So Steve just stands very close.

Bobby sighs, but it sounds very close to a sob. “Sterling got jammed up with the police for possession of pot. The pot I asked him to get for me, Bucky.”

“Oh no,” Bucky groans covering his face with his metal hand.

“Yeah,” Bobby says. “He’s in lockup at the BKDC right now.”

“Shit,” Bucky says, dropping his hand and looking back at Steve.

“I didn’t even find that out until a few minutes ago. You know Jake, the navy guy with the streaked blue hair?”

Bucky nods.

“Well, he said after Sterling got picked up, Mikey came to the courtyard to score, and got jumped by a bunch of kids. They were probably trying to rob him, but you know Mikey ain’t got nothing to take. I guess they were mad about it. They messed him up real bad. By the time I got out here the paramedics had already been called,” Bobby’s voice fades out as he hangs his head, visibly shaking.

Bucky grips one of his shoulders. “It’s okay, Bobby, not your fault. I should have checked up on both of them.”

“He’s so fucking stupid,” Bobby spits between sobbing. “Always worried about being a nuisance. He could have come to either one of us.”

“You know he has his pride. I invite him to stay over all the time; he hardly ever takes me up on it.”

It would be so easy for Steve to tell them Mikey won’t have to worry about it, that he’ll take care of everything, but that doesn’t quite gel with what Bucky said about Mikey’s pride. Steve mentally files through every conversation he’s ever had with Mikey and the only thing he’s ever asked for was a tour of Stark Tower.

“Don’t worry about Sterling,” Bucky says. “I’ll bail him out.”

Steve holds his tongue, even though he wants to ask where Bucky plans to get the money.

“Sorry you had to see this,” Bobby says, looking up at Steve as he drags the sleeve of his jacket over his wet face. “Mikey’s a good kid. Just a run of bad luck, you know?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for, Bobby. If there’s anything I can ever do for him, or you, or Sterling, I hope you know you can ask.”

The wry, sad smile Bobby gives encapsulates everything Bucky's been saying since day one. _That’s nice, but you can’t help us._

Bobby never says that, though, because he grew up in a different time, when Steve’s image hung next to the holy cross and a picture of Jesus. He admires Steve, so he just nods and says, “Thanks, Captain.”

They watch Bobby wheel down the concrete walkway and around the corner, and then return to Bucky’s apartment in thick silence. 

Steve takes a seat on the bed and watches Bucky pick up his laptop. A tinny ringing sound fills the room and Steve listens as Bucky talks to a bails bondsman. When the call ends, Bucky closes his laptop and begins to search through the crates by the wall. 

“Need help posting bail?” Steve asks carefully, hoping Bucky doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“Nope,” Bucky says, still shuffling through papers. “I got it.”

Steve bites his lip, knowing he should just let it go, but he has to know. “Bucky, how?”

“I have money,” Bucky says, retrieving a red box with a black star on it. “More than you think.”

Bucky takes the lid off of the box and counts out several hundred dollars. A dozen questions run through Steve’s head, but he knows they won’t be answered, so he stores them away for later.

“Want me to go with you?” he offers. “To pick him up?”

Bucky sighs. “No, you can stay here, or...go wherever you want.”

Steve’s heart sinks. Bucky’s obviously upset, and there’s nothing he wants from Steve to ease it. Now would probably be a good time to leave, but Steve can’t seem to make himself stand. 

He looks up sharply when Bucky begins chuckling. It sounds dark and cold. “You know why Mikey’s homeless?”

“No,” Steve says slowly. When Bucky doesn’t supply an answer, Steve asks _why_ in a soft, encouraging tone.

Finally, Bucky turns his head to look him in the eye. “Mikey’s unit was ambushed in Kabul. Half of them didn’t make it out. He developed a bad case of PTSD afterwards and started using to cope. Weed, cocaine, heroin, whatever he could get his hands on. Instead of therapy, they gave him a General Discharge.”

“That’s better than dishonorable, right?” Steve says weakly.

Bucky chuckles dryly. “Supposedly. But in reality anything other than ‘Honorable’ means you have bad papers. They may as well have stamped a ‘Do Not Hire’ sticker on his forehead. With his drug habit, he got knocked down on all of the lists, especially when it comes to housing and job placement, which only made everything worse. It’s a fucking cycle now.”

Sadness and righteous anger on behalf of Mikey well up within Steve. He’s sure whatever he wants to say right now wouldn’t be helpful, so he covers his mouth.

Bucky stands, and looks down at him. “I know you like to think you can save the world, Steve, but even a lecture from Captain America won’t get Congress to fix this. We protest and write letters to help veterans get their benefits. But it won’t ever help people like Mikey because the government says soldiers like him don’t count as much. Never have, never will.”

Steve looks up and sees all of the pain and resignation in Bucky’s eyes. Once again the desire to pull him into a hug is so overwhelming he has to will himself to stay down.

“Do me a favor, make sure the door locks before you leave,” Bucky says. 

And then he’s gone, and Steve is left sitting on the fancy new bed he purchased, while trying to think of ways to fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The type of discharge a U.S. veteran receives can [significantly affect their access to VA benefits as well as job opportunities.](https://www.npr.org/series/250013036/veterans-and-other-than-honorable-discharges)There are many reasons why a U.S. veteran may be discharged as less than ['Honorable'](https://www.vetverify.org/javax.faces.resource/images/VOSB-Military-Discharge-Overview.pdf.xhtml?ln=default&v=1_0). Prior to 2014, many veterans were given "Other Than Honorable" discharges for [symptoms directly related to PTSD or traumatic brain injury](https://themilitarywallet.com/ptsd-discharge-upgrade/). Younger African-American and Latino males are more likely to be negatively impacted by the "Other Than Honorable" discharge designation. Not coincidentally, they also represent a [disproportionate percentage of the homeless U.S. veteran population.](http://nchv.org/index.php/news/media/background_and_statistics/)


	4. Big Homie Better Grow Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter was created by the lovely [DrowningByDegrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees).

Things get weird.

Steve still volunteers at the VA, still sees Bucky all the time, escorting vets to their appointments and talking to any and everyone but Steve. All of their interactions now are perfunctory and curt. Bucky will offer a head nod or ‘hey’ to acknowledge Steve’s existence, and then quickly find someone else to talk to, or mumble his exit. 

Outside of sex, Steve barely knows Bucky, so he has no idea what he can do to change things between them. The few intimate details he knows now seem like secrets from a closet he never was supposed to have opened. 

There’s another protest, and afterwards, Bucky keeps it very professional. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says. 

Steve is left standing by the street bench, his heart bruised, as the message sinks in--their little fling is over, as well as any hope Steve had that they could be something more. 

Unfortunately, that also means ending contact with Bucky’s friends. Steve really wants to check in on Mikey, to see how he’s doing, as well as Sterling and Bobby. But he knows Bucky would see it as a violation.

All of this dampens Steve’s enthusiasm for volunteering. He used to feel enlivened to empower others; now he feels limited in his ability to change anything. 

But he won’t give up. If nothing else, Steve is steadfast to his commitments. 

He starts thinking of ways he can help veterans like Mikey. Just because he can’t hang out with the guy doesn’t mean he can’t do something for him. It keeps him up for several days.

On the fourth day of his brainstorming, he doesn’t fall asleep until 4am, but when his cell rings at 7am, he snaps to attention. 

“Rise and shine, goldilocks. Get your ass up,” Sam says with a smile in his voice. 

Steve groans. “Overslept. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

As Steve puts on his compression pants, the morning news plays on his digital radio. 

There’s some internet squabble between two reality show celebrities. Steve is just about to turn it off when the DJ switches topics.

_“The issue of adequate funding for Veteran Affairs is receiving renewed interest thanks to Captain America and the veterans down at the Brooklyn Outpatient VA Center. Protests at the VA have been gaining more traction in the past few weeks and seems to have caught the attention of at least one New York Congressman. Representative Jerrold Nadler says he’s committed to fighting for veterans._

__

__

_“However, he also threw a little shade at Captain Rogers and the Avengers, saying quote ‘Veteran Affairs definitely needs more funding, but so do the nonprofits that help veterans. Maybe Captain America should picket his friend Tony Stark. MIT already has a billion dollar endowment. Why is the Stark Foundation spending money there, and not on veterans?’”_

Steve turns off the radio and rushes out of his apartment. Invigorated, he runs harder than usual to get to Central Park. On the way, his half formed idea grows by leaps and bounds. By the time he reaches Sam, who’s doing stretches, Steve is bursting with excitement.

“Whoa, what’s got you so amped?” Sam asks, giving Steve a worried once over.

Steve smiles. “I’ll tell you while we run.”

He laughs when Sam gives him a skeptical eyebrow raise. 

“I promise, I’m not setting you up. I will jog at your pace,” Steve says.

Sam purses his lips. “Oh, you’re jogging for my benefit now? You just had to rub it in.”

“Shut up and run,” Steve says with a chuckle. He takes off, with Sam pushing hard catch up.

It takes eight solid laps to cover his entire plan but by the end of the final lap, Sam is excited as well.

“Oh man, I think the guys at the VA are gonna love this idea. But the question is - do you think Tony will go for it?”

Steve gives Sam a _he better_ look.

“You know,” Sam sighs. “A little diplomacy goes a long way.”

“I can be diplomatic,” Steve says, affronted. “But it won’t be necessary. Tony will see the value in this idea.”

“Just in case,” Sam says. “I think we should talk to Pepper first, and then rope him in.”

Steve nods in approval. “Good strategy.”

Sam winks. “I learned from the best.”

Charmed, Steve smiles. “Well, now that we’ve talked, it’s time to run. Race ya!”

He takes off, ignoring Sam’s shouts of “Ah, man, come on!”

 

*

Two weeks later there’s another protest, with a crowd so large the police have to barricade the perimeter. Bucky has moved from the street bench to a white wooden platform. He starts a chant on the bullhorn and then pulls another veteran up to speak. Steve looks around to make sure the cameras are pointed in the right direction--and not at him--when he spots a familiar head of red hair. 

Natasha slinks through the crowd like a panther. When she reaches Steve, she offers a small smile and stands next to him, right beneath his picket sign. It’s the perfect angle to block her from view. 

“Nice crowd,” she murmurs.

“Are you tailing me?” Steve asks harshly. 

“Of course,” she says nonchalantly.

Steve's grip on his picket sign tightens.

“Relax, I’m also here to support veterans,” Natasha says.

Steve scoffs. “Right.”

“I can multitask, you know,” she says. “You should thank me - Fury was going to send two stiffs to watch over you. ”

Steve gives her an _are you kidding me_ look, but her eyes are focused ahead.

“Why are you really here?” Steve demands. He watches as Bucky pulls an older man up to the platform. 

Natasha doesn’t reply. They both listen to Bucky introduce the guy beside him, Joseph, who shares a story about trying to secure adequate housing. Once again, Steve thinks about Mikey. 

When Joseph is done, Bucky takes the bullhorn back to lead another chant. Steve raises his picket sign even higher and joins in. 

Bucky is always nice to look at, but when he’s riled up like this, he’s absolutely captivating. With his flesh fist raised in protest and fire in his eyes, he inspires passion. It’s easy to get drawn in, and for a moment Steve forgets that Natasha is beside him.

Eventually the chant dies down and someone in the crowd starts yelling something about budget cuts. 

Steve glances down and finds Natasha looking up at him.

“What?” he asks. 

She glances back up at the platform, where Bucky stands like a poster icon for a revolution.

“He’s very inspiring.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, looking away.

“So, is this veterans’ rights thing a long term commitment, or….”

Steve turns fully to her, dropping his sign so that it shields their faces from the cameras.

“Really, Nat? This is serious.”

“So I noticed,” Natasha says. “Certainly explains why you were glowing.”

Steve huffs. “I was not glowing! Did Sam tell you that?”

“Shhh,” Natasha murmurs. “No. We all saw it. You were a ray of sunshine for like a month, and then suddenly you weren’t. You two have a fight?”

Breathing through his nose, Steve purposefully puts the picket sign between them, blocking Natasha’s view of him.

“Real mature,” Natasha says. 

Steve ignores her for the rest of the protest. When the cameras start turning towards him, Natasha disappears. Steve gives a few sound bites about veterans, and the reporters and cameras pack up and leave. 

Natasha magically re-appears from who knows where. “That was a really good turnout.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, turning his back to walk home.

“Wait, you’re not gonna introduce me?” Natasha asks.

Steve glances back to where Bucky is standing. He’s watching them with a strange puzzled expression on his face.

Anxious to get away from a potentially catastrophic situation, Steve starts walking away.

Natasha follows.

They walk in tense silence, Steve growing grumpier with each passing step.

The difference between Natasha and Sam is obvious in moments like this. Both of them are able to recognize when Steve’s not doing great, but Sam will outright ask him what’s wrong, and leave it alone when Steve needs him to back off.

Natasha, on the other hand, operates like a predator; she watches, lying in wait for the perfect moment to pose an artful question or give a suggestive nudge, whether it’s invited or not. Steve really isn’t in an inviting mood right now; in fact, he kind of wants Natasha to leave him alone.

“Fury said he didn’t have a problem with my activism,” Steve grouses. “He change his mind or something?”

Natasha keeps up with him, completely unfazed by their fast pace.

“No,” she says. “He just wants us to stay ahead of the press. You and your friend are starting to get a lot of attention from the higher-ups, which means the Avengers and SHIELD are attached by proxy.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Steve snaps, ready to launch into a rant about the responsibilities they all owe to veterans.

“No, Steve,” Natasha says wearily. “And you’re taking this the wrong way. Fury wants eyes and ears on this so SHIELD can be prepared to back you. It’s coming from a good place.”

Steve gives a non committal grunt. “He tell you to follow me home too? Didn’t know I needed a babysitter.”

“I’m following you home so I can see your new place.”

It isn’t exactly a request, but there’s a tentativeness in Natasha’s voice Steve isn’t used to hearing. A soft vulnerability that immediately disarms him, making him feel like an ass for being so snippy and suspicious.

“Alright,” he says. “I suppose an invite is long overdue.”

The small smile Natasha offers in return breaks the lingering tension.

“Do you have a coffee maker?” she asks.

Steve smiles. “Of course.”

Natasha weaves her arm through his and sighs. “Thank God.”

 

*

Steve gives a grand tour of his brownstone that ends in his vintage kitchen.

“This is really nice. A bit surprising,” Natasha says as she circles the kitchen island, taking in the cabinets and chic retro design of the appliances.

“Why surprising?” Steve asks as he selects his coffee beans. He has no shame--he wants to impress Natasha. 

“It’s stylish and modern, and you’re…” She bites her lip.

Steve narrows his eyes. “Watch it. I control the coffeemaker here.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t say another word. Steve gets to work, excited to demonstrate the ease with which his newest purchase grinds beans.

He can feel Natasha’s eyes on him as he loads the grinder. He wonders what she’s thinking about. She’s a lot like a cat in many ways: always watching, but impossible to read.

“So…”

“So?” Steve repeats, glancing behind him. 

Natasha has a smirk on her face. Which is not a good sign.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, or do I have to do some digging on my own?”

Steve suppresses a snippy response--this is Natasha’s way of showing she cares. 

“There’s really nothing to tell…two sugars, right?”

“Right,” she says. “Nothing _now_ , or never was?”

Steve pours her coffee, and stirs two lumps of sugar into her mug and one into his. He takes his time retrieving the creamer from the refrigerator.

“Try this,” he says as he hands her the mug.

Natasha’s gives him a long-suffering look, but accepts her coffee. Steve watches as she takes a sip. 

The affirmative hum that follows is satisfying. 

“It’s really good,” she says.

Steve grins proudly. “Thank you.”

Natasha puts the mug down. “So, are you two sleeping together?”

“You know, I really love this coffeemaker,” Steve says, motioning back to his new state-of-the-art toy. “I was wasting too much money at the coffee shops, and that stuff isn’t even half as good as the kind at the fair trade markets. Plus, this is better for the environment.”

Natasha purses her lips. “Steve…”

Steve takes a very long sip of his piping hot coffee. It burns going down, but it’s still better than talking. 

Secretly, he’s been craving to talk about Bucky, and if anyone is good with secrets, it’s Natasha. But Steve’s never had to vocalize his relationship with Bucky, and frankly it’s strange to be talking to Natasha about his love life--or lack of one. She’s been trying to set him up on dates for almost two years. This is the first time Steve has wanted to actually discuss dating with her. 

“Yes, we’ve slept together,” he finally admits. “Several times.”

“Booty call?” Natasha asks, looking completely unsurprised.

Steve shrugs. “Not really. It was just random….” he waves his hand in confused circles, at a loss for words. “Weird aggressive sex.”

“Random weird aggressive sex,” she says with a ghost of a smile.

“He _hates_ Captain America,” Steve clarifies.

Natasha bursts out laughing. It’s a rare and bright thing, and it pulls a reluctant smile out of Steve. 

“So he hates your superhero persona, but likes fucking you,” she says. “Sounds perfectly healthy.”

“I know, it’s messed up.” Steve sighs heavily. 

Natasha narrows her eyes. “But you miss him.”

Steve shakes his head. “No. Not really.”

“God, you’re still a horrible liar.” She’s staring Steve down, melting him into a puddle of gooey confession.

“Okay, yes. I miss him,” Steve says. “The sex was really good.”

“Still lying,” Natasha says.

Steve looks up at the ceiling. It’s easier to talk to. “Also, I may have thought it could possibly turn into something. The last time we were together, things were good. We joked around, watched some TV…there may have been some cuddling.”

“Nice,” Natasha says with a smirk.

“I thought so too, but then…” He trails off. How can he explain everything? He really doesn't want Natasha to think badly of Bucky, or his friends.

“Things are kind of rough for him and his friends,” he says. “The last night we were together, one of them got arrested for drug possession, and another got beat up because he's living on the street.”

“Jesus,” Natasha murmurs.

“They’re all vets,” Steve continues. “Great guys, funny, smart, but they’ve been dealt a lousy hand. What really pisses me off is that they’ve given more to this country than the people who make decisions about their benefits. It’s not right.”

Natasha sits back, her eyes sharp. Steve feels semi-naked when she looks at him like that.

“So are you two having problems because of money, or all of his baggage?”

“It’s not baggage,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I don’t care about any of that stuff, but maybe he does. I think…I think he resents what I represent, and how well I get compensated. Then there’s my friendship with Tony and all the celebrity that comes with being an Avenger. He thinks I’m some kind of rich entitled vigilante.”

“Steve,” Natasha says. “You can’t control how other people see you. Anyone who knows you knows you’re not entitled.”

Steve sighs. “But I think it’s hard for him to reconcile who he thinks I am with how he and his friends live. They served just like me, Nat, but the way they’re living…”

As soon as Steve gets it all out, it seems even more impossible that he can have a relationship with Bucky.

“That’s a hard one,” Natasha says, peering up at Steve as she sips her coffee. “How do you feel about him?” 

“Well I don’t _hate_ him,” Steve answers quickly. “I’m really attracted to him. We have great sex, and I…I wish I could get to know him better. I think if I wasn’t Captain America we really could have started something.”

“Have you said that to him?” Natasha asks.

Steve pulls a face. “No!”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “So you just have angry sex and secretly pine, wishing it could be more? What if he really doesn’t hate you?”

“He does, though,” Steve insists. “He’s told me so several times.”

“While you were fucking?” Natasha looks like she wants to laugh again.

“It’s not funny,” Steve says in irritation.

“Steve, when I hate someone, there are three options,” she says, and counts them out on her fingers. “I kill them; I make their life a living hell; or I stay far away. You two? You fuck. Repeatedly. Trust me, he doesn’t hate you. Just talk to him.”

Steve frowns, trying not to entertain the hope Natasha is pushing. It’ll only lead to disappointment. 

“He’s not exactly easy to talk to,” Steve says defensively. “He can be prickly and argumentative.”

“Amazing,” Natasha says slowly. “I know a guy _just_ like that! Turns out underneath that tough exterior, he’s actually a big marshmallow.”

Steve leans over until his forehead hits the counter. Natasha’s warm soft fingers begin massaging his scalp and he exhales.

“I don’t know this guy,” she says. “But I do know that if you really want more with him, you can’t just sit around pining. You have to show your hand and let the chips fall where they land. _But_ , and this is a big ‘but’, Steve…” 

Steve lifts his head from the counter to look at her. “Yeah?” 

Natasha pauses like she’s choosing her next words carefully. “I know how much you like fixing things. But you can’t treat people like that. He can’t be your project.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly. “He’s already told me that, in very colorful terms.”

Natasha smiles. “I like him already. But the question is: do you like him enough to take the risk of telling him how you feel?”

Steve thinks of all the nights he’s spent wondering if Bucky was thinking about him, the relief he felt when Bucky finally allowed him to stay over, the ease he felt while in Bucky’s company, and the comfort he found in their cuddling. 

“Yeah, I think I do.”

Natasha winks. “Then go get ‘im, tiger.”

It’s not something Steve knew he needed, but Natasha’s advice has revived a small patch of hope he’d nearly abandoned. 

They finish their coffee and Natasha begins talking about Fury’s new training program. Steve only hears half of what she’s saying as he starts plotting what to say to Bucky. 

 

* 

After Natasha leaves, Steve spends the evening running through half a dozen scenarios. 

In his favorite fantasy, he asks Bucky out to a nice a restaurant and Bucky accepts. They spend the evening falling in love, and then return to Steve’s apartment where they make love. It’s so far-fetched and silly, but it makes Steve smile so he keeps returning to it. 

Considering where they are right now, Steve knows he needs to scale back the fantasy to an invitation to a coffee shop, or the seedy dive bar in Bucky’s neighborhood. And they probably won’t fall in love in one night, or at all. Maybe they’ll just discover they can be good friends with benefits.

Baby steps, he reminds himself. 

When he wakes the next morning, Steve has a plan and a nervous stomach.

It’s Saturday and he has no real reason to be in Bucky’s neighborhood. He bypasses false pretenses and decides to just go and do it. It will be a miracle if Bucky doesn’t slam the door in his face, or completely ignore him, but it’s a chance Steve is willing to take.

As he parks his bike, he spots Bobby, Sterling, and Mikey. It brightens Steve’s mood like unexpected sunshine. 

“Captain America returns!” Mikey calls out. 

Both Bobby and Sterling look back in surprise. Steve picks up his pace and jogs up to meet them, a friendly smile on his face. Not the kind he puts on for public appearances, but he’s making an effort to show them he’s happy to see them. 

It’s much warmer today, but Steve takes note that Mikey is wearing his grey bomber coat. His face has healed, and the only evidence of his attack is a hairline scratch running from his eye down his right cheek. 

“Hey guys, how’s it going?” Steve says. 

“Same ol’ story, Captain. Some good days, some bad,” Bobby says a little stiffly, squinting up at Steve like he’s looking at the sun. His use of Steve’s formal title doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Doing alright,” Sterling says. His eyes quickly drop like he’s ashamed about something, and Steve can’t have that. He doesn’t want any of them feeling uncomfortable or ashamed around him.

“That’s great. Glad to see you guys. I miss hanging out,” Steve says earnestly.

“You do?” Mikey asks and Steve can hear how much he’s trying not to sound accusatory. ”Well why haven’t you been around, then?” 

Steve scratches the back of his neck as his guilt resurfaces. “I’ve been volunteering down at the VA. Just…thought it might be best to stay away from around here.”

“Why?” Bobby asks, and he really does sound offended.

Looking at all of their faces, Steve can see that they want a real explanation. 

“You guys are Bucky’s friends, and…” he pauses, thinking of an approximation of the truth that will protect Bucky’s privacy. “I haven’t seen much of Bucky lately. I didn’t think it’d go over too well if he saw me hanging out with you.” 

“Ohhhh,” Mikey says knowingly. 

Sterling gives Steve a sympathetic closed-lipped smile, but Bobby starts chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asks in bemusement.

Bobby sighs like an exasperated parent. “The two of you. You’re both ridiculous. How can you be so brilliant at strategy, but can’t see what’s going on with Bucky?”

Steve’s heartbeat picks up and he has to tamp down the urge to ask if Bucky has been talking about him. He doesn’t want to sound like some lovestruck teenager.

But Bobby is smiling like he already thinking it. “He _likes_ you, Steve.”

“He likes you a _lot_ ,” Mikey confirms.

“He’s been real sad since you stopped coming around,” Sterling adds. “More mopey than usual.”

“And bitchy,” Mikey complains, wrinkling his nose. “I had to check his ass the other day.”

It’s a treasure trove of information, and on the inside Steve does a cartwheel. “Are you sure that has anything to do with me?”

They all groan in unison.

“Steve!” Sterling says. “Bucky’s not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, so he hasn’t come out and said it, but trust us, he’s acting like a sourpuss because you stopped coming around.”

“Now, please, please get your patriotic ass up those stairs,” Mikey says, pointing at the building. “And do whatever it is you do that puts him in a good mood. This is a matter of public safety, Cap.”

Sterling snickers and Bobby makes a shooing motion with his hand.

Steve smiles. “Thanks, guys. And I’ll try to come around more often.”

“You better,” Bobby says. “I don’t care if you and Bucky are fighting like cats and dogs. He can’t tell us who we can talk to.”

Steve nods. “Duly noted. I’ll see you guys later.”

As he turns away, giddy anticipation begins to take over. When he reaches Bucky’s door, his heart is doing double time.

Standing at Bucky’s door for a few moments, Steve shores up the same determination he uses when facing any confrontation. He gives three solid knocks. 

“Who is it?” Bucky shouts from what sounds like the center of the room, where the bed sits.

“It’s Steve.” 

There’s no reply or sound of shuffling feet. As the silence continues, Steve’s hope drops like an anvil into a sea of doubt. He considers turning around. He could pretend as if he never came by, but then he’d have to explain that to the guys outside. And he also knows he’s not going to stop thinking about it. Steve doesn’t want to endure the torture of ruminating on what he should have or could have said. If Bucky doesn’t want to see him ever again, Steve wants to hear it from Bucky. 

“You probably don’t want to see me,” he says to the door. “But I just need to get a few things off my chest, and then I’ll leave you alone for good. Promise.”

It’s still very quiet. Steve lets his head fall until his forehead is pressing against the door.

“I know you don’t like what I do or believe in why I do it, but I guess I thought maybe you were starting to like _me_ as a person. The guy behind the cowl.” 

Steve waits, and when he still doesn’t hear anything, he closes his eyes and forces himself to keep talking. “But, maybe that was just wishful thinking. I’m not good at reading people when it comes to stuff like this. I just…I really enjoyed our last night together. I know it was just TV and take out, but...it's hard to meet people I can really relax around, and I was hoping maybe we could do it again.”

Still nothing. Steve exhales and absorbs the sting of Bucky’s rejection. 

“I understand if you don’t feel the same,” he says. “I want you to know there are no hard feelings. I guess I’ll see you around the VA. You don’t have to worry about me bothering you. I’ll keep my distance.”

As much as Steve hates the answering silence, a twisted relief floods him like he just expelled something making him sick. Bucky’s non-response still stings, but at least he gave it his best shot. Not trying will not be one of his regrets. 

Resigned, Steve opens his eyes slowly and backs away from the door. He’s on the second stair down when he hears a lock clicking and a door handle turning. A cautious hope seizes Steve as he pauses, listening. The hinges of Bucky’s door creak open, and Steve tries to temper his excitement even as his heart tap dances in his chest. He slowly turns around. Bucky’s standing in the threshold with an inscrutable expression.

“Hi,” Steve says before his throat closes up completely.

“Hey,” Bucky says.

Steve’s not sure if he should head back up or wait to be invited. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Perhaps Bucky just wants to tell him to fuck off. 

“You coming in or what?” Bucky finally says. 

Discreetly exhaling, Steve takes a step up and follows Bucky inside his apartment.

* 

Bucky’s apartment may be run-down, but he has always kept his space immaculate, and there’s usually a fruity scent in the air. But when Steve steps inside today, a stale odor hits his nostrils and he’s careful not to be obvious as he wrinkles his nose. 

The new bed looks like a tornado hit it. The covers are strewn all around, some on the floor, and there are empty soda cans and dirty plates on the platform surrounding it. There are even more soda cans, fast food wrappers, and frozen food boxes scattered throughout the kitchen. 

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbles. “It’s pretty shitty in here, which is a downgrade from kinda shitty.”

Heartened by Bucky’s attempt at humor, Steve offers a small smile. “My place is pretty messy too.”

“Wouldn’t know, I’ve never been invited,” Bucky says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Steve swallows. “You’re certainly welcome. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Bucky turns his gaze towards the kitchen “So you meant it…all that shit you just said?”

“Yes,” Steve says, taking a tentative step forward. “I meant every word.”

Bucky’s still not looking at him. Steve wants to turn his face and make him, but that probably wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Maybe you just miss fucking me,” Bucky says. “It’s not like we really know each other.”

Steve opens his mouth to deny it, but remembers what Natasha said. “I do miss having sex with you, Bucky, but I want more than that. I want to get to know you too. I’d like to date you.”

Finally, Bucky turns his head to look Steve in the eyes. “I don’t get it. You have _everything_ ,” he exclaims. “Why are you slumming with me when you could be with someone rich and famous? Did you lose a bet or something?”

“Hey,” Steve says sharply. “Stop talking down about yourself. I’m looking for something meaningful, and last time I checked that has nothing to do being famous or having deep pockets.”

“And why should I believe that?” Bucky asks, frowning. 

“Because I’m telling you,” Steve says. “Ask any of my teammates, I’m not a good liar.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “It’s my cocksucking skills, isn’t it?” 

“No,” Steve says in frustration. “I want to date you because we have good chemistry, and I feel comfortable around you. Why is that so hard to believe? ”

Bucky scoffs and spins around, stretching his arms out. “Look around, Steve. Rich superheroes don’t date guys who live like this.”

It feels like rejection. Like Bucky’s trying hard to convince Steve they can’t be a thing, and Steve isn’t one to force himself on anyone. 

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Steve says. “If you didn’t want to see me anymore, all you had to do is say so.”

Bucky combs his hands through his hair and holds on to it like he’s at his wits’ end. “What I want is for you to stop being so fucking nice and perfect and argh!” 

He turns his back on Steve.

“I’m not perfect, Bucky. I’m...” Steve sighs.

Bucky whips around suddenly and stalks over until they’re nose to nose.

“Yeah, you are. You’re a perfect asshole,” Bucky says. “And you better not be dicking me around.” 

“I swear I’m not. I just--” 

Before Steve can get another word out, Bucky grabs the back of his head to pull him down into an open mouthed kiss. 

Bucky tastes like spicy ramen and cheap beer and it’s the best thing Steve’s had in his mouth in weeks. Steve licks and bites, chasing Bucky’s talented tongue until they’re both breathless. Suddenly Steve’s pants feel tight and too restrictive, and if the flush of Bucky’s cheeks are any indication, he’s just as affected.

“You missed me too,” Steve breathes.

Bucky slams both of his hands into Steve’s chest. As usual, it feels like a tap. Steve looks down at him in puzzlement.

“Don’t get sappy on me,” Bucky says.

Grinning, Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, pulling him closer. “How about I just kiss you then?”

“Kiss my dick,” Bucky whispers into Steve’s ear.

Steve groans and buries his face against Bucky’s neck. “Really, Buck?”

“Hey, a kiss is a kiss.”

Steve shakes his head and lifts Bucky bridal style to carry him to the bed. He lays Bucky on his back and crawls over top to resume making out. But Bucky seems to have other ideas. 

He pushes against Steve’s chest. “None of that sweet romantic shit, you know how I like it.” 

It stirs something familiar in Steve’s gut, but he holds back. “You know there are other ways to have sex, Buck. It doesn’t always have to be a fight. ”

Reaching up with his metal hand, Bucky yanks at Steve’s Henley, tearing it in half right down the middle.

Steve’s mouth drops open in shock.

“It’s more fun and you know it,” Bucky says with a smirk. 

He pinches one of Steve’s newly exposed nipples. Steve literally shrieks and smacks Bucky’s hand away.

“Oh, you sona--”

“Whatcha gonna do about it, huh?” Bucky asks with provocation.

“This,” Steve says, reaching down with both hands to tickle right beneath Bucky’s armpits. 

Bucky yelps and tries to scramble from under Steve, but Steve’s too strong. He continues his tickling while Bucky twists and turns.

“Oh my god, you fucking asshole!” Bucky sputters between hoarse laughter. “Please...oh...oh God, no, please…Steve…nooooo.”

“I told you to stop fucking with me, didn’t I?” Steve says, moving down to Bucky’s stomach.

“Ooooooo, no, Steve! Nooooo. Mercy! Mercy!”

Pulling his hands away, Steve smiles down at the frazzled mess he’s made.

Bucky looks completely wrecked. His hair is all over his head, there are tears in his eyes, and he’s literally panting as he holds his body like he’s expecting another round.

Steve runs his hand through the wild bird’s nest on his head, smoothing it down.

Bucky closes his eyes and Steve would swear he hears purring. 

“You’re a big ol’ cat,” Steve says.

“Shaddup, you mutant golden retriever.”

Steve’s hand stills in Bucky’s hair. There’s a second of wide-eyed recognition on Bucky’s face just before Steve reaches down to tickle his neck. 

“Oh god, no, no….I’m sorry!” Bucky begs, half laughing. “I’m sorryyyyyy….”

“Are you gonna be good?” Steve asks, not letting up.

“Yes, you fucker!” Bucky shouts.

Laughing, Steve finally stops. 

Bucky sits up, wearing a scowl. “You really are a dirty fighter.”

Steve shrugs. “You brought it on yourself, Buck.” 

They smile at each other, and there’s a nice easy vibe settling over them that Steve hopes will become the norm. Bucky leans back on his elbows, his eyes flickering from Steve’s face to his exposed torso. Steve preens a bit.

“Come here,” Bucky murmurs, his tongue swiping his bottom lip in a sexually suggestive manner that makes Steve’s dick twitch.

It’s very tempting, but there are more important matters that need to be taken care of first.

“I will,” Steve says. “After you shower. I really like you, Bucky, but you stink right now.”

Whining like a toddler who’s been denied candy, Bucky falls back, pulling a pillow over his head. Steve hears mumbling, but it’s so muffled that even his super hearing can’t pick out the words. 

He yanks the pillow off of Bucky’s face. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

Bucky huffs. “I said _fine_ , I’ll shower. But I want the works -- blow job, rimming, and a good deep dicking.”

Steve smiles. “See, we really are compatible. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

*

While Bucky showers, Steve opens the window. There’s a nice breeze coming in from outside that clears the stale air in the apartment. Steve trashes all of the empty cans, wrappers, and frozen dinner containers. He discards his torn henley as well. 

He’s making up Bucky’s bed when he discovers the nearly concealed--and very new and expensive--laptop Bucky used to call the jails bondsman. Steve stares at it for a moment and then continues making up the bed like he didn’t see it. Next, he washes the dishes and cleans off the counters.

By the time Bucky reemerges, still slightly wet with a towel around his waist, Steve is sitting on the bed, watching a PBS special on the Everly Brothers. 

“What the fuck is this?” Bucky asks, startling Steve in the middle of his sing-along to ‘Let It Be Me.”

Confused, Steve looks around. “Did I overstep?”

Bucky gives his apartment a suspicious review and while he does, Steve takes in all of that wet, creamy skin on display. Bucky is a vision dripping wet, and Steve wants to dry him off--with his tongue. 

“You really are a fucking Boy Scout,” Bucky chuckles. 

“Is that your way of saying thank you?” Steve asks.

Bucky saunters closer, the outline of his dick beneath the towel becoming more prominent as it fills.

He stops just short of the bed, close enough to have his crotch inches from Steve’s face. Steve picks up the remote control and turns off the television before scooting closer, his nose just grazing Bucky’s hard-on. His own pants tighten when he looks up into Bucky’s lust-blown eyes.

“I got better ways of showing gratitude,” Bucky says in a low sexy voice that makes Steve even harder.

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks, grabbing Bucky’s hips to pull him forward. 

He rubs his face against Bucky’s terrycloth-covered erection, savoring the feel of Bucky’s very responsive dick. Steve’s grip on Bucky’s hips tighten as metal fingers comb through his hair.

“I may have…” Bucky mumbles above him.

“Huh?”Steve pulls back. “You may have what?”

Bucky Adam’s apple visibly bobs as he swallows, then he clears his throat. “I may have missed you,” he whispers, like it’s embarrassing.

Steve can feel a goofy smile spreading over his face, and he doesn’t even care. “Knew it.”

“Gloating isn’t a good look on you,” Bucky says with an exaggerated frown. 

“Pffft,” Steve scoffs. “You still think I’m hot.”

“Now you’re pushing it,” Bucky says.

Steve licks his lips and peers up coyly beneath his eyelashes. 

“Don’t even start, you fucking tease,” Bucky warns, but there’s a little whine in his voice. 

Steve yanks off his towel in one swift motion, feasting his eyes on Bucky’s fantastic erection.  
  
“No teasing today,” Steve says as he takes a hold of it. “I’ve been dying to get my mouth on you.”

He dives in, licking a stripe from the root to head.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Bucky says breathlessly, holding onto Steve’s shoulders like he might fall over. 

*

Bucky is passed out, which is to be expected after getting the works from a supersoldier. He makes an adorable picture with his long hair fanning over his face and his mouth hanging open as he snores in little puffs. Steve enjoys just looking at him. 

After bringing Bucky to orgasm in three different positions, Steve is completely satiated. He contemplates turning on the television, but doesn’t want to disturb Bucky’s sleep. He decides to grab his phone from his discarded pants by the foot of the bed so he can check messages and surf the web. After retrieving it, he nearly stubs his toe on something.

Steve stares at the shiny silver laptop with the Apple logo for several moments, as discarded questions reemerge. 

He glances at Bucky’s sleeping form and picks the laptop up to place it on top of the milk crates against the wall, where it can’t be stepped on. An unfolded letter stuck to the bottom begins to fall and Steve catches it. The familiar letterhead is from a charity Steve donates to regularly. 

The words ‘thank you for your donation’ catch his eye, and Steve quickly tells himself that the letter isn’t private. There are public records on charitable donations, after all. Plus, Steve is greedy for any kind of information about Bucky. 

Still, he’s careful to turn around and set the laptop down. He keeps his back turned as he reads. 

Every gear in his brain screeches to a halt as he reads the first sentence. 

_Dear Mr. Barnes,_

__

__

_Thank you once again for your monthly donation of $2000 to DAV in memory of Private William K. Forest._

Steve reads that line again and then reads on, hoping to find some explanation. But the letter offers no rhyme or reason about why or how Bucky could possibly donate that much money regularly. The only thing it says is that Bucky’s donation continues to help a veteran who has traumatic brain injury from flying shrapnel.

Reviewing the letter a few more times, Steve always pauses on the $2000 figure. Afterwards, he surveys his surroundings with new eyes, searching for anything out of the ordinary that jives with what he just read. The cracked walls, busted radiator, water-stained ceiling, and Bucky’s dated television all scream that he can’t afford that kind of donation. Certainly not regularly. 

Steve frowns. It’s not really any of his business, except for the fact that Bucky gave him a lot of shit about being rich. Hell, Bucky even tried to talk Steve out of dating him, called it “slumming”. 

Something dark and unsettling nudges Steve’s thoughts, but he pushes it back and clears his mind. Things are going good right now. This is something they can discuss later. Much later. When their relationship is more established. 

Steve decides to put both the letter and the laptop back where he found them when Bucky’s snoring breaks.

Without thinking, Steve turns around like a thief caught in the act, the letter still in his hand.

“Whatcha doing?” Bucky slurs, his eyes blinking open.

“Uh…”

Bucky sits up quickly, his eyes a lot clearer all of a sudden. “I said, what are you doing?”

Steve looks down at the letter in his hand. “I was just, uh...I went to get my phone and almost stepped on your computer, so I picked it up to put it somewhere safer and this letter fell from the bottom. I didn’t mean to read it, Bucky, but I did. I’m sorry.”

That was said all in one breath and too fast, judging by the bemused expression on Bucky’s face. 

It’s like a bizarre game of freeze tag, and Steve is unsure of whether he’s going to be kicked out or if he can move to get back into bed. 

After the longest minute ever, Bucky just shrugs and says, “Okay.” 

He slides back into the sheets and closes his eyes like he’s going back to sleep.

Steve continues to stand frozen, clutching the letter as he debates whether he should just drop it or ask his questions. He and Bucky just made up, and Steve really would prefer not to have an argument. 

But he also really, _really_ wants to know. 

Steve puts the letter on top of the laptop and climbs under the covers. Bucky’s breathing is very shallow. 

“Um, Bucky?”

“Yes, Steve,” Bucky sings like he’s been waiting for this.

Steve props his head on his hand and braces himself for a bad reaction. “I think it’s great you donate so much to DAV. I really like that organization.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky says.

Steve begins to fiddle with hem of sheet. “I donate to them too. Just…Just not as much as you do. Your monthly donation makes mine look like a joke.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, and it’s kind of driving Steve crazy. 

“How can you afford to donate that much?” Steve blurts out and then winces. 

Slowly, Bucky blinks open his eyes. “I told you--I have money.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Steve says cautiously. 

Bucky rolls over on his side to look at Steve. “You want to know if I’m doing something illegal.”

“No!” Steve protests. “I wasn’t even thinking that.”

“Well, for your information,” Bucky says testitly, “I have a job. A _legal_ job. I even pay taxes and shit.”

“That’s great, Bucky,” Steve rushes to say. “Good for you.”

“Good for me?” Bucky scoffs. “What, do I get a gold star now?”

Steve inwardly cringes as how he must sound to Bucky. “I meant I’m glad you’re doing alright for yourself. Sometimes I worry about you.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Why?”

The answer seems to obvious, and Steve can’t decide if Bucky is being sarcastic or setting him up for an argument. Steve glances around the apartment, trying to think of way to put it, and ends up waving his hand around as an explanation.

“Thought you didn’t care about stuff like that?”Bucky says, quirking one eyebrow.

“I don’t,” Steve says. “Everyone knows I grew up poor. I don’t judge people for how much money they make or where they live. I just…I just don’t understand why you’ve _chosen_ to live like this if you don’t have to.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, he just looks past Steve to the wall. 

A terrible idea takes root in Steve’s mind and once it begins to bloom, he can’t kill it.

Bucky has enough money to buy a new bed, but he chose to sleep on a worn out lumpy mattress. The money he donates each month is enough to rent a decent place anywhere in the borough. Yet Bucky chooses to live in a run-down apartment located in one of the most crime-ridden areas of Brooklyn. 

Perhaps Bucky is just frugal, but Steve doesn’t believe that. 

“Hey,” Steve whispers, reaching out, his hand stopping just shy of the metal fingers next to him.

The distant look in Bucky’s eyes recedes a little. “Don’t really wanna talk about this right now.”

“Okay,” Steve says, making contact with Bucky’s fingers. He traces the warm metal digits, watching Bucky’s face for any type of reaction.

“Can you feel it when I do this?” he asks.

“Sorta?” Bucky says. “It sends signals to my brain that you’re touching me. But it doesn’t feel like it does when you touch my real hand.”

Steve hums as their fingers intertwine. He squeezes with varying levels of strength, testing out of fascination.

When he looks up, Bucky has a small smile on his face.

“What?” Steve asks.

“You’re weird,” Bucky says. 

“Like you didn’t experiment with it for the first few weeks--”

“Months,” Bucky clarifies. “Yeah, I played with my hand a lot, but it’s on my body. Kinda need to know how to use it.”

Steve smirks. “I mean, we’re sleeping together, so technically I get to use it too, right?”

The bug-eyed look of utter shock on Bucky’s face is comical. 

“You deviant!” he exclaims. “What are you angling for here--an ironclad handjob or some metal fingers up your ass?”

Steve averts his eyes and his cheeks grow warm as he folds Bucky’s metal hand into a fist and squeezes the entire thing in his palm.

“Holy shit,” Bucky whispers.

It’s impossible to discern whether that response is good or bad, and Steve is starting to feel like perhaps he overshared. He’s just about to play it off as a joke when he looks up. Bucky’s staring at him like he’s a steak dinner. 

“Grab the lube,” Bucky says in a husky tone that has Steve moving so fast he nearly falls off the bed.

 

*

Steve wakes up with a wonderful deep ache in his ass and to Bucky’s bear cub snoring. It’s a sound he wouldn’t mind waking up to more often. Maybe indefinitely. But it’s too soon to think like that. 

A weird buzzing sound forces his eyes open. He peers into the dark and rolls over, to retrieve his phone where he left it on the nightstand. 

It’s Sam. Steve silences it, and then texts that he won’t be running today and that he owes Sam a drink for being such an understanding friend. Sam’s reply, _Oh you got some huh?_ , makes Steve shake his head and put him on ignore. 

He’s hungry, though, and the Chinese place Steve ordered from last time is still programmed in his phone. So he gets up and places an order. 

Bucky sleeps on, even when Steve leaves to pick up the food and comes back with a huge bag. Steve eats two full meals of chicken with broccoli, and puts Bucky’s food in the refrigerator. He slides back beneath the covers and snuggles up to Bucky, who reaches over and hugs Steve like he’s a huge teddy bear. Content and full, Steve watches Bucky’s profile in the dark until he falls back to sleep.

 

*

 

The next time Steve wakes up, it’s bright, and the familiar sounds of people talking, distant sirens, and traffic are drifting into Bucky’s apartment. He yawns and opens his eyes, and finds Bucky staring at him like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“You okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods slowly. “You uh, slept in pretty late. I hope I didn’t keep you from any…Avenger business.”

Steve smiles. “If they really needed me, my phone would tell me.”

“Like, a special ring tone or something?” Bucky asks.

“Um, more like, it would actually talk and tell me where to go,” Steve explains.

“Whoa,” Bucky says. 

They stare at each other for a few moments and then Bucky starts gnawing at his bottom lip like he’s nervous or unsure. 

Steve scoots closer. “If you want me to go…”

Bucky shakes his head hard. “No...no. It’s just...besides sex, I’m not sure what we can really get into here. Kind of a bare bones operation. I was never really good at entertaining.”

“I didn’t come here to be entertained,” Steve says. “I want to spend time with you.”

He’s not sure what to make of the incredulous laugh that follows. Does Bucky still not believe Steve wants to date him, or is he just having a hard time figuring out how they got here?

“Well, it’s Sunday,” Bucky says. “What do you want to do?”

Steve considers half of the dozen date ideas he plotted before coming over. Then his stomach rumbles loudly.

“Better feed that thing,” Bucky snickers. “It sounds dangerous.”

Steve groans as his stomach rumbles again.

Bucky cackles.

“I guess we should start with brunch,” Steve sighs.

*

They emerge from the building with Steve wearing Bucky’s largest tshirt, which is still too small. Mikey, Sterling, and Bobby are all gathered by the entrance. They stop talking when they see Steve and Bucky.

“You guys kissed and made up!” Mikey says with a gleeful smile.

Sterling covers his heart with exaggerated fondness, while Bobby claps and says “awww”. Bucky’s face turns two shades pinker. 

Steve laughs, tickled to see Bucky embarrassed by his friends, and just plain happy that Bucky’s not denying anything. 

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up, losers,” Bucky mutters.

“Ah, come on, Bucky, you’ve been a grump,” Bobby says. 

“Yeah, man,” Mikey says. “You already have the worst resting bitch face. It’s ten times worse when you’re sad.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Bucky says loudly, clearly ready to escape this conversation. “We’ll catch you guys later.”

“Where ya going?” Sterling asks.

An idea pops into Steve’s head and he motions to Bucky, who looks at Steve like he’s unbelievable.

“Are you serious?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, why not?”

Bucky has no response, so Steve decides its okay to ask. “You guys want to join us for brunch?”

“Hell yeah!” Mikey shouts.

They end up walking to IHOP off of Flatbush. Steve requests a room in the back, where he can order several items and spread them out without feeling self conscious. Bucky and his friends, of course, still rib him about his super serum appetite, until Bobby points out that Sterling also puts away a lot, without a serum to explain it. It starts a round robin of trading insults and embarrassing stories.

Turns out taking Bucky’s friends out to brunch was a terrific idea. Not only does IHOP have all-you-can-eat pancakes, but Steve learns a lot of things about Bucky from his friends, such as: 

● Bucky loves ketchup (Mikey makes a point to ask why Bucky isn’t drowning his eggs in it like he does with other things. Bucky throws a napkin at Mikey’s face.)

● He’s scared of horror movies. Last summer during a free screening of _Night of the Living Dead_ , Bucky spent the entire movie looking between his fingers (Bucky vehemently denies this).

● Bucky hasn’t had a date since his friends met him (Bucky says they have no way to prove this).

● He writes poetry and even participates in local poetry slams (Steve asks when he is performing next and Bucky asks Bobby to pass the pepper).

● Bucky _is_ the neighborhood watch. He has single handedly averted over a dozen crimes, usually with his fists, sometimes just by staring. He mostly scares the younger thugs, who in the spirit of _Game of Thrones_ have taken to calling Bucky ‘The Winter Soldier’. (Mikey claims that if Steve ventures out with Bucky late at night he will hear someone cry “Winter is coming!” Bucky doesn’t deny this.)

● He really loves NASA (Steve kind of suspected this when he saw the boxers). He even hosted a watch-party for the last NASA announcement about the latest discovery from the Kepler space telescope. 

● Bucky hates spiders and once asked Sterling to come up to his place under the false pretense of hanging out, when he really only wanted him to kill a granddaddy long leg.

 

“Enough with the lies!” Bucky snaps as Sterling laughs so hard he bowls over sideways into the booth. “Steve, don’t listen to these guys. They’re full of shit.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Steve says, taking a swig of juice. “Sounds like they know you pretty well.”

The redhead waitress pops in to check on them and deliver the check. Bucky goes to take it, but Steve grabs it first. 

“Don’t try to showboat for your boyfriend,” Mikey says, giving Bucky a crazy look. “You know you can’t afford all of this.”

Steve and Bucky exchange a quick glance and then Bucky looks up the length of the table at all the food left over. “You guys done?”

“Yeah, I’m stuffed,” Bobby says, rubbing his stomach.

“Me too,” Sterling says.

“For sure. I could pop right now. Thanks a lot, Steve,” Mikey says.

“Anytime, guys,” Steve says. “Just keep the stories about Bucky coming.”

“Oh, we got lots more,” Bobby promises. 

Buck groans and then raises his hand to flag down the waitress. 

“What can I do for you, honey?” she asks.

“Do you mind packing up all of this food in separate containers?”

She nods. “Sure.”

“Thanks a lot,” Bucky says to her.

Steve raises an eyebrow in question. Leftover breakfast food isn’t the tastiest. 

“It’s not for me,” Bucky says.

Steve pays the check and they part ways with Bucky’s friends, turning the opposite way towards the East River. 

On the way, Bucky stops to hand the leftover food to people hiding in plain sight. One guy is in an alley near a dumpster, another is camped out behind a sidewalk sign, the last one is sleeping on a street bench at entrance of the park near the promenade. 

They all thank Bucky and greet him by name. He knows their names too. One of them recognizes Steve and gives him an official salute. Steve returns it and thanks the guy for his service. Bucky’s approving smile makes Steve feel ten feet tall. 

“It’s great what you do for veterans,” Steve says.

“It’s the least I can do,” Bucky says quietly.

Steve’s not sure what that means, but he has a hunch it’s related to the money issue. He’s not going to push, though, so he lets it go without comment.

They step onto the Brooklyn Heights Promenade and the sound of kids laughing grows louder as bike riders and joggers begin to pass them.

[](https://imgur.com/UQzFiFB)

“This is one of my favorite places in the city,” Steve says, looking out at the Manhattan skyline. “It’s the reason I chose my place. It is only a few blocks away.”

“Ah, now I see why we’re really here. You’re trying to lure me to your bed,” Bucky says.

Steve bumps shoulders with him. “Stop.”

Bucky smiles. 

The sky is clear and blue on this warm Spring afternoon. Against the East River it looks like a postcard. Bucky moves closer as they walk, sometimes brushing against Steve’s arm or outright pressing against him. It feels natural, like he belongs by Steve’s side. 

Steve stops by the railing, staring at the way the city skyline meets the horizon. “This view never gets old. Sometimes it doesn’t even look real.” 

When Bucky doesn’t respond, he looks to his side and finds Bucky watching him.

“You’re the one that’s fucking unreal.” Bucky says. “This view? It’s alright.”

Steve grins. “Now who’s the sap?”

“That wasn’t necessarily a compliment,” Bucky teases.

Steve stares at Bucky, the way the sun lights up his pale blue eyes, and highlights his hair.

He’s beautiful.

“What are you looking at?” Bucky asks.

“You.”

Bucky’s cheeks pinken, and Steve flips his hand over on the rail in invitation. Bucky looks down at Steve’s palm like perhaps it’s too much. Steve stiffens, preparing for rejection, but then Bucky lays his flesh hand on top of Steve’s hand. 

They stand there, holding hands for several minutes. The longer they stay there not talking, the more Steve can feel something heavy radiating off of Bucky. Like he’s thinking hard and he wants to say something. Steve waits him out, not wanting to push or scare him off.

“I used to come here all the time with my family, growing up,” Bucky said, looking out at the water. “My dad says it’s the best view of Manhattan.”

Steve tries not to show too much surprise, but something in his face must give him away. 

Bucky smiles, “You thought I was raised by wolves?”

“No, it’s just…” Steve pauses in hesitation before deciding to just say everything he’s been thinking. “You don’t have any pictures of your family in your apartment, and you’ve never spoken about them. Are you in touch with them, or....”

Unsure if he’s crossed a line, Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have---”

“I keep up with them on email,” Bucky says suddenly. “Sometimes they’ll drop in to visit, but not often. Things are kinda tense between us right now. They hate the way I’m living and I hate the questions. ”

A seagull squawks, and they both watch as it soars up to the sun. 

“I bet you want to ask me more,” Bucky says with small smile. “But now you feel like you can’t ‘cause I just told you I hate questions.”

Steve cocks his head. “Honestly? I do have a lot of questions. If we’re really going to date, Bucky, I’d like to be able to ask you things. That’s kind of how it works.”

“And what do you know about dating?” Bucky says with a smartass smirk. “Didn’t they have chaperones back in your day?”

“Very funny,” Steve says dryly. “For your information, I’ve been on plenty of dates.”

Bucky gives him an exaggerated impressed face. “So Captain America is an undercover casanova? Actually, now that I think about it, you do fuck like you’ve been around the block a few times.”

“Bucky!”

Bucky chuckles. “Alright, loverboy. So tell me, what was the best and worst date you’ve ever been on?”

“Oh, God,” Steve says, clenching his eyes shut “I just opened a can of worms, didn’t I?”

“Sure did,” Bucky says. “Now dish.”

Steve looks up to the sky, like he’s thinking hard. “Best date? Hands down, this one.”

“Boooo! That’s cheating. I want the truth!” Bucky says, elbowing Steve in the side.

Steve raises his hand like he’s swearing an oath. “I told you I never lie. This has been the best date because it’s with you.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky mumbles, his face growing red. “And the worst date?”

“The worst date I’ve ever been on,” Steve takes a deep breath. “Was with a guy named Brock. I used to work with him. He was attractive, but he turned out to be a real jerk. Sexist, vulgar, you name it. I was so disgusted I ended the date early. In retrospect, it was a good call. Turned out he was Hydra.”

Bucky coughs out a laugh. “No fucking way! You dated a Hydra goon?”

Steve shrugs. “How was I supposed to know? He worked for SHIELD. And like I said, he was attractive.”

“Yeah ‘cause good looks cancel out being a Nazi terrorist,” Bucky teases.

“I said it was the worst! Stop giving me shit,” Steve grumbles. “What about you, huh?” 

Bucky gasps and points at Steve. “Hey, you set me up. Now if I don’t say you’re my best date, I look like an ass!” 

Steve grins and gives an one arm shrug.

“Oh, you little shit!” Bucky tries to give Steve a full hip check, which turns out to be completely ineffectual. 

Bucky sighs. “Why do I even bother?”

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky waist, pulling him closer. “Cause you’re a fighter. It’s one of the things I like about you.”

“And you’re a punk,” Bucky says. “The thing is, no one would believe me if I told them.”

“Yeah, probably not,” Steve says, giving Bucky a shit-eating grin.

They stay for another hour, watching the skyline, the tour boats, and yachts. 

An ice cream vendor comes by, and after the children and their parents are all served, Steve gets Bucky a frozen cherry pop and an ice cream sandwich for himself. 

Bucky licking and sucking on a phallic object that leaves his lips painted red should not be viewed in public. Steve has to force himself to think about baseball stats and look away several times so he doesn’t embarrass himself. 

Luckily, Bucky finishes the pop quickly. His mouth is so red he may as well be wearing lipstick. It’s a really good look on him, and Steve wouldn’t mind seeing that shade smeared on his dick.

“My place is only two blocks up,” Steve says, his voice already affected. 

Bucky puckers his red lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You inviting me to stay the night?”

“If you want,” Steve says as the voice inside his head chants _pleasepleaseplease._

Then those pouty red lips spread slowly into a secret smile. It’s new; at least, Steve’s never seen Bucky give him a smile quite like this. He hopes it’s his, something now only reserved for him. 

“I do…want,” Bucky says with a meaningful stare.

With his head buzzing and his heart kicking wildly, Steve grabs Bucky’s hand to lead him back to his brownstone.


	5. If You Talk That Talk, Better Walk That Walk

When he started fucking Steve over a month ago, Bucky never thought he’d one day wake up next to the guy in his master bedroom.

As he gazes at the long lashes decorating that pretty chiseled face, Bucky wonders how the hell they got here. 

Yesterday, Steve said he wanted to date Bucky. It seems like they’re going too fast, yet Bucky doesn’t really want to talk Steve out of it. He tried at first, and truth be told, he’s glad he failed.

He’s pretty sure--no, Bucky _knows_ he doesn’t deserve someone like Steve. But this is nice and he wants to enjoy this thing they have, for a little while, even though he’s sure it won’t last, especially when Steve finds out about his past.

Steve yawns and his eyes open slowly. 

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” Bucky says.

Steve’s staring, as he tends to do. Bucky pulls up the sheets self-consciously, like they can provide cover from the intensity in those eyes.

“I like waking up with you here,” Steve says.

Bucky crinkles his nose. Sometimes Steve’s earnestness is unbelievable. “Geez, have you ever heard of taking it slow? You’re not supposed to say that out loud yet.”

“Just being honest,” Steve says. “I really could get used to it.”

Bucky twists his lips. “Steve, yesterday was our first date.”

“So? We’ve been having sex for over a month,” Steve says, inching closer. “We’re doing this backwards anyway.”

Bucky sighs. Why does Steve always make so much sense? 

Steve’s fingers traces ticklish lines over the back of Bucky’s hand, leaving goosebumps. 

“Don’t want to push you,” Steve says carefully. “But...I wouldn’t mind if this became a regular thing.”

It’s a pleasant surprise, after convincing himself that this thing with Steve was fleeting. Bucky opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. 

“Is that a yes?” Steve asks.

“I dunno!” Bucky half-laughs in disbelief. “What do you want me to say? Yes, I’ll be your boyfriend?”

Steve grins and leans in to kiss Bucky full on the lips. “Will you?”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” Bucky says, but he’s smiling. “How did we go from dating to being in a relationship?”

Steve gives a half-shrug. “You date to figure out if you want to be with someone. We went on a date, and now I know what I want, so…”

Thunderstruck by such an explicit declaration, Bucky searches Steve’s eyes, looking for any trace of crazy. Normal people aren’t this earnest. Maybe the serum affected his brain and SHIELD just hasn’t told the public.

Bucky’s lack of response seems to have Steve second-guessing. He draws back, his brow creased in concern. “But like I said, I don’t want to pressure you. If you don’t feel the same, I completely under--”

There’s no way Bucky can let Steve finish that sentence. He cuts him off with a fierce kiss, pouring his all into it. If Steve really wants to be his boyfriend for a few days or hell, maybe even a month if they’re lucky, Bucky intends to make sure he’s one of the unforgettable ones.

When they break apart, Steve’s mouth is swollen and red, and he’s nearly panting. 

Bucky smirks. “Okay.”

They start kissing again, and things in Bucky’s boxers start perking up, when a disembodied British voice startles him. 

“Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark has been trying to reach you, but your phone is on ‘Do Not Disturb.’”

Bucky still has his mouth wide open, frozen, when Steve groans and pulls away to pick his phone off of the night stand. 

“That’s because I don’t want to be disturbed, JARVIS,” Steve says tightly.

“Yes, Captain, I informed him of your wishes, but he insists on speaking with you immediately. He says it is an urgent matter and will only take a few minutes.”

“Fine,” Steve huffs, putting the phone to his ear. “Hey, Tony.”

Buck watches as Steve goes from lying down to sitting up with a frown on his face. 

“Yes, I know, I know,” he says. “Yes, I have…Because someone has to, Tony. You think I haven’t considered that?”

Bucky can’t make out what’s being said on the other side, but he can tell Stark is talking very fast by the rapid speech patterns coming through.

Suddenly, Steve moves out of bed and walks out the room. Bucky hears a door down the hallway open and close.

Bucky figures it must be something top secret to take Steve out of the room. A strong cynicism still surrounds Bucky’s feelings about what Steve’s superhero persona represents. He thought he could compartmentalize the symbol from the man, but that may prove harder if stuff like this becomes a regular part of their relationship. 

When Steve returns, he’s looking down at his phone like he wants to smash it.

“Everything alright?”

“What? Oh yeah. Yes. Everything’s fine,” Steve says with a fake smile.

Bucky raises one eyebrow, giving Steve his ‘stop bullshitting me’ expression.

Diving onto the bed, Steve buries his face into the sheets next to Bucky’s legs. When he turns over, he’s wearing an expressions that reminds Bucky of that Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-You expression from press conferences. 

“Why’s it so hard for people to do the right thing?” he sighs.

“I dunno,” Bucky says, feeling completely out of his depth. “I guess sometimes people have different ideas about what’s right.”

Steve huffs. “Some things just _are_ right, you know?”

“Is this about Avenger business?” Bucky asks.

Steve glances over at him and then quickly looks away. “Sort of.”

“Do you get calls like that often?” 

Rolling over, Steve looks contrite as he looks up at Bucky, “Sometimes? There’s no rhythm to it. Sometimes it’s just bureaucratic stuff like that. Other times... it’s more important, and I have to leave immediately. It’s one of the downsides for anyone who wants to be with me. I hope it doesn’t bother you too much.”

Bucky shrugs, not sure how he feels about Steve randomly taking private calls, or up and leaving. “I guess I’ll find out.”

Steve stretches up to kiss him and then buries his face into Bucky’s lap, groaning.

“Is that an ‘I wanna suck your dick’ sound, or is there something wrong?”

Steve makes the most adorably whiny sounds against Bucky’s thigh. “I left my bike in your neighborhood. How the hell did I forget about that?”

Bucky licks his lips and leans over to whisper, “Told you--I got skills.” 

Steve narrows his eyes as he looks up at him, and Bucky’s not sure what he’s up to until it’s too late. It all happens in slow-motion--Steve slides back until he’s sitting on his haunches, then he’s reaching for something over on his side of the bed. When Bucky turns to look, he gets wacked on the side of the head with one of Steve’s huge pillows. 

There’s a shocked cry that doesn’t even sound like it belongs to Bucky. But he knows it was him, and his face is burning. Once Bucky recovers and registers the mischievous smile on his boyfriend’s face, it’s war. 

Bucky may not have Steve’s supersoldier strength, but he has excellent aim. He pillow pounds Steve pretty mug with incredible accuracy. The relentless assault continues even as Steve tries to block him. Bucky thwarts his efforts and climbs over Steve to straddle him for maximum impact. 

“Okay, okay, truce…truce,” Steve cries, half-panting and laughing. “You win! Please...Bucky!”

Bucky stops, holding the pillow in mid-air over Steve’s head. “That’s what I thought.”

The brilliant smile Steve is giving him gives no indication he’s lost the pillow fight. In fact, if Bucky didn’t know any better, he’d think Steve just won the lottery or something. 

“What are you smiling about?” Bucky asks.

Steve blushes like he’s got a secret. “Nothing. What do you want for breakfast?”

“What about your bike?” Bucky asks.

“Eh,” Steve shrugs. “It’s been there all night. If it’s not gone by now, it’ll still be there when we go back. Besides, I’m starving.”

Bucky laughs. “So what you’re really telling me is that you value food more than your Harley.”

Steve holds up his thumb and forefinger and squints. “Just a little.”

 

*

 

Dating Steve is nothing like Bucky expected. Steve tries to take Bucky to a few fancy restaurants, but when Bucky makes it clear it’s not his thing, Steve doesn’t force it. 

If Bucky wants to hang out at the local dive bar and drink cheap beer, Steve makes sure he has a seat at the bar and all the beer he wants. If Bucky wants to just chill at his place and watch PBS, Steve seems perfectly content to do that all night. If Bucky wants to go back to Steve’s place and fuck, that’s exactly what they do. Anything Bucky wants, Steve is willing to accommodate.

It all a bit too…perfect. 

No one can be this sweet, caring, _and_ badass at the same time, especially not this asshole.

It’s like Steve was created by aliens who’ve been studying human romantic relationships by reading romance novels. Steve is the literal embodiment of Mr. Right, and as much as Bucky enjoys him, he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So of course he picks a fight, to speed towards the inevitable. 

One evening they’re lounging in Steve’s plush bed that reminds Bucky of lying on a cloud, and Steve turns over and says, “I have to go out of town for a few days, maybe up to a week. I’d really like to keep in contact with you.”

“What are you saying?” Bucky asks suspiciously.

Steve, who is as transparent as Scotch tape, starts picking at some invisible lint on the mattress. 

“I, uh, I was hoping we could text, you know? If you don’t want to get a phone for yourself, I have access to many. I could…I could get you one.”

It’s not even bad suggestion. Bucky’s boss keeps asking for a phone number for emergency last-minute jobs, and Bucky feels stupid telling him to just email him. Besides, he’s in a relationship now, and he’d like to keep up with Steve when he can’t see him. 

But something about the suggestion coming _from_ Steve pokes at Bucky’s pride unpleasantly. 

Besides, they haven’t had a proper fight in a few weeks. 

“If I wanted a phone, I’d get one,” Bucky snips. “I can buy things for myself if I want to.”

Steve flushes, and nods. “I know. So…why don’t you have one?”

“Because. I. Don’t. Want. One.” Bucky grits out.

“But why?” Steve presses.

“What is this?” Bucky snaps, sitting up. Steve stills and stares at him in apprehension, like he broke something. “Fix Bucky up piece by piece? First, get him a bed, then show him what a real date is and buy him a phone. What’s next on your list, take me shopping for a new wardrobe?”

Steve hangs his head and sighs. “No. I like you the way you are, Bucky. But when I go away on missions I never know what’s going to happen, and…I just want to be able to keep in touch.”

All of the indignation and anger Bucky’s been shoring up to unleash on Steve instantly deflates. He flops back on his back, completely at a loss for how to deal with this sappy shit Steve’s throwing at him. To make matters worse, Steve still has his eyes cast down to the mattress, looking like the saddest puppy.

Bucky blows out a hard breath. “Shit...I’m sorry.”

Steve’s head snaps up. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“No, Steve,” Bucky sighs. “We’re dating, you should be able to keep in touch with me when you go out of town. Hell, when you’re in town, too. I don’t exactly make it easy. And...I’ve been thinking about getting a phone for awhile now.” 

“Yeah?” Steve asks, a little smile brightening his entire face.

Bucky frowns. “God, when my family finds out I have a phone…”

Steve’s smile fades and he appears to be overthinking, as he often does. 

“Spit it out,” Bucky demands.

“I just wonder sometimes,” Steve says, not quite looking at him, “why you keep your family at a distance. I’m sure they’d like to see you.”

Bucky doesn’t really know how to answer that, not without completely baring his soul, and he’s feeling a little selfish--he wants to keep Steve a little while longer. Talking about why he doesn’t want to see his family means talking about his past. Steve will finally understand why Bucky is not boyfriend material and then he’ll dump him, very nicely of course. 

But not today. 

Bucky forces a smile. “Yeah, well, maybe if I get a phone, I can start talking to them more.”

*

He and Steve begin trading texts, and funny memes. It’s actually kind of fun. The cool thing about having a phone is that when things get too tense or serious, Bucky can choose to ignore questions, or respond to them much, much later when he can craft a perfectly vague response. 

Steve quickly learns not to try and engage in serious conversation on text, and Bucky is grateful for it. Bucky tries sending a couple of dick pics to spice things up, but Steve only responds with stupid smiley face emojis. He never sends dick pics back, or engages in sexting, which is frankly rude. But considering how much Stark Tech Steve uses, Bucky understands the reticence about sending out nudes. Still, it sucks not to have a picture of that monster cock.

There are a few arguments, and missteps, but overall, Bucky is getting used to having a superhero boyfriend who sometimes has to bow out of plans only to show up later on the 11 o’clock news. He still doesn’t like the way Steve sometimes gets up and leaves a room while on the phone, but Bucky is working on his patience.

They’ve been dating for over a month when Steve gets called away on a long mission. Two days into waiting for Steve to return, Bucky receives a cryptic text message:

 **Steve:** I have a surprise for you when I get back

 **Bucky:** What is it? Give me a hint

 **Steve:** "Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet." - Jean-Jacques Rousseau 

**Bucky:** Oh fuck U

 **Steve:** Soon, Bucky. Soon :D

 **Bucky:** Are you safe?

 **Steve:** Yes. Thanks for asking.

 **Bucky:** U better not die. That would be the cruelest cliffhanger ever 

**Steve:** I’ll see you soon, Buck. Good night.

 **Bucky:** Night Stevie

 

*

Sometimes, Bucky and his friends visit The Brooklyn Academy Music’s Cafe for their spoken word events. The MC, Cheryl, hooks them up with free tickets because they’re veterans. Bucky dabbles in poetry, but doesn’t consider it anything serious. It’s just a another way to vent his frustrations and talk about shit he can’t really say out loud anywhere else. Every now and then he’ll get on stage and read something. But he has to be in the mood.

Steve already knows about this because of Mikey’s big mouth. Bucky isn’t ready to share his poetry in front of his boyfriend yet, so he always changes the subject whenever Steve asks about it.

Tonight when they walk in, there’s a palpable buzz in the air, and all eyes turn to stare at Bucky and his friends.

Sterling frowns. “Is it me, or is everyone looking at us?”

“What are you guys lookin’ at?” Mikey asks with a smile. 

Many people avert their eyes, but some people just stare back with curious expressions.

“Are we in some sort of trouble?” Bobby asks, looking up at Bucky.

Cheryl, the pretty full-figured Latina who MC’s the spoken word events, practically skips over towards him.

“Bucky! The man of the hour!”

“Huh?” Bucky asks. All of his friends look just as puzzled.

“You’re dating Captain America, right?”

Familiar hyperawareness creeps over Bucky, like it used to in the desert when he was looking for IEDs. 

Who spoke to the press? Was it one of those sleazy paparazzi guys who carry long telescopic lenses? 

“ _And_ you’re a computer guy!” Cheryl says with a smile. “Somebody’s been keeping secrets.”

“Computer guy?” Mikey laughs. “Bucky doesn’t even own a computer.”

There’s an awkward moment of Cheryl looking at Mikey like he doesn't know what he’s talking about, while Mikey, Sterling, and Bobby all stare at Bucky in confusion.

“Where are you getting all of this?” Bucky asks in a strained voice.

“Are you serious? _You’re_ trending. Well, you and your boyfriend,” Cheryl says, pulling out her phone.

Bucky can’t even look at his friends, but he can feel the weight of their stares as they all close in around the screen of Cheryl’s phone. 

Right there on YouTube is a video of Steve in his Captain America uniform. He’s standing in the middle of a line of Avengers - Black Widow, Iron Man, Hawkeye, the Falcon, Thor, and Bruce Banner. It looks like some sort of press conference, typical SHIELD PR. Steve even gives a few of his fake smiles. Bucky can spot the fake ones now; Steve’s smile around Bucky and his friends is never this plastic. 

Someone asks a question and Steve’s plastic smile melts into a scowl. 

“Wait, rewind,” Bucky says. “What was the question?”

Cheryl pauses the video. “The reporter asked about a new non-profit he’s starting with Tony Stark and Sam Wilson. It’s for veterans who get discharged for less than “honorable” reasons.”

Mikey gasps and Bucky looks back at him, a strange mix of emotions swirling in his gut. He’s really, really fucking happy someone is working on something like that. And a part of him is proud that it’s his boyfriend. But why hasn’t Steve mentioned this to Bucky? Why did he have to learn about it on fucking YouTube, in public?

“Bucky, did you know about this?” Mikey asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

“He’s still talking,” Sterling says, pointing. 

Cheryl rewinds the video to play it back. 

Tony Stark and Sam Wilson jump in to verbally spar with the reporter about the merits of providing support for “dishonorable” veterans. Stark is brutal and stuns the reporter into silence, while Wilson smooths things over diplomatically, educating the public about the various types of discharges and how it affects vets.

“Man, this is awesome,” Sterling says.

Things look about ready to wrap up, and Bucky starts to back away, when Cheryl puts her hand up. “Wait, this is the best part. Listen!”

They all lean in.

“Captain Rogers! One more question, please!” a reporter is yelling.

“Yes,” Steve says tightly.

“Is it true you’re dating a telecommunications engineer who works for Kroll Cybersecurity Services? Former Army Sergeant, James Barnes?”

Steve just stares at the woman for a long moment.

“The same James Barnes who leads the Brooklyn-based VA protests?” the woman prompts.

The way Steve’s face flushes and his eyes flash make Bucky nervous for the reporter. 

“That’s none of your damn business.”

“Well _The New York Post_ just released pictures of you two holding hands on the Brooklyn Promenade. Are you denying it?”

Stark leans over and opens his mouth, but before he can say a word, Steve takes the mic away from him and says, “No, I’m not denying anything. He’s my boyfriend, and that’s all I have to say on the matter.”

Everyone around Bucky audibly gasps, and Bobby says, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Cheryl grins. “See, that’s why you’re trending. That’s so awesome, Bucky. Do you think you could bring him by sometime? For the kids?”

It only registers what she’s asking when Sterling elbows him. He looks around at his friends’ shocked faces and gives her a shrug. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“That would great,” Cheryl says excitedly. “We could make a night of it. Like ‘An Evening with Captain America’ or something. It could really help draw more kids from the neighborhood. Anyway, think about it. No pressure. And congratulations! Couldn’t have happened to a better guy.” 

She’s walking away before Bucky can thank her, not that he would, because it doesn’t feel like he has anything to celebrate right now.

Some nosy asshat in the press went digging, and now all of Bucky’s friends knows he’s a liar.

“Bucky, why did that reporter say you were telecommunications--- whatever, you work with computers, man?” Mikey asks.

It’s hard to look at them, but Bucky forces himself to. They deserve that much.

“Yeah. Mostly cyber security, and troubleshooting software.”

“You really have a job?” Bobby appears gobsmacked, and Sterling is looking at Bucky like he hardly recognizes him. “Why didn’t you tell us? And why are you living in that dump?” 

Bucky waves his metal hand in the air as if that will help. It’s hard to know where to begin, and he’s not sure he wants to do it here in the cafe, where people are still staring at him.

“Can we go outside?” he asks.

He turns on his heel fast, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes gawking at him.

The night air is brisk. It’s a relief compared to the stuffiness of the cafe, or maybe it’s just being out from under scrutiny that has Bucky breathing easier.

“Bucky!” Bobby calls.

He finally turns and faces them all. There’s a myriad of emotions on all of their faces - confusion, suspicion, and worst of all, disappointment.

“I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t know how to tell you, or anyone really. I still can’t really believe it myself. I don’t really know how to talk about it.”

“How have long you been working?” Sterling asks.

Bucky shrugs, but his face is growing hot. “Some guy invited me to enroll in a cybersecurity training program for veterans. I’ve always been good at computers, so I thought ‘why not?’. They gave me a job right afterwards. That was about a year ago.”

All of them rear back, looking at him in disbelief.

“You lied to us,” Sterling accuses.

“I don’t get it, man. Why? Are you undercover or something?” Mikey asks, frowning. 

It’s rare to see Mikey frowning, and it makes Bucky feel like first rate jackass.

“No, Mikey. I’m not a cop or nothing like that. I just…this job I have, it doesn’t feel right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bobby asks sharply. “You have a _job_ , Bucky. That’s a good thing. What the hell do you mean it doesn’t feel right?”

Bucky shakes his head, and he realizes he’s stepping back, away from them, but he really doesn’t want to talk about this. He can’t.

“Bucky…” Bobby wheels forward.

“No, look. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to any of you. I understand if you don’t trust me now. But that’s all I got. I gotta, I gotta go…”

He runs then, trying to block their voices out as he heads through the warded-off construction site. Stepping over steel beams and ducking under _Do Not Enter_ yellow strip tape, he nearly trips over a half-buried pike before finding a way out. 

On the other side is McLaughlin Park. It’s closed, but the police don’t really bother anyone who ventures in there, as long as they don’t bother anyone.

Bucky walks, and walks, his mind a jumble. Questions from his friends. Steve declaring that he’s Bucky’s boyfriend. His name trending. 

 

*

 

He arrives back at his building well after midnight, and finds Steve standing outside. 

Bucky stops in the middle of the street when he sees him. They stare at each other for a suspended minute, and then a smile breaks on Steve’s face. He gives a tentative wave and walks forward.

Bucky takes a deep breath and walks to meet him. His boyfriend has one hand behind his back. 

“What are you hiding?” Bucky asks.

Steve chuckles and brings out a bouquet of flowers. They’re daisies. 

“Wow,” Bucky says, accepting them with his flesh hand.

“So telecommunications, huh?” Steve asks, his head cocked.

Bucky glances around, surveying the courtyard for nosy parkers and eavesdroppers.

“Let’s go inside and talk.”

Steve nods quickly and holds the door open for him. Bucky rolls his eyes and steps inside.

As they climb the stairs, Bucky can feel his pulse quickening and the insistent nagging voice in his head chanting _This is it. You guys are done_ , over and over.

It’s hard not to believe it. For the past few hours, he’s been imagining every bad scenario for someone in his position dating Captain America, and every type of rational rejection Steve could vocalize.

By the time they make it inside, Bucky’s vibrating with apprehension. He lays the daises on the kitchen table and turns around.

“Listen, Steve--” he starts.

“Wait, Bucky, before you lay into me, I just want to apologize,” Steve says, interrupting.

Caught off guard, Bucky raises his eyebrows. 

Steve exhales and rubs his forehead. “I know I fucked up,” Steve says. “That’s why I hate talking to the press. When they try to back me into a corner, I come out swinging. It didn’t feel right denying our relationship, so I didn’t. But I know I should have discussed it with you first. I’m sorry.”

Bucky closes his mouth and tries to regroup. This isn’t going the way he expected. He’s been planning for how to respond to being dumped, not Steve asking for forgiveness.

“Please, say something,” Steve begs. 

Frowning, Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t think this is gonna work. I can’t…I can’t do this.”

Steve’s face crumbles, but he nods. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“It’s not because you confirmed our relationship. I just...the way that reporter just threw out all of my information. Like it was common knowledge. My own family doesn’t know what I do, Steve. And now all of my friends think I’m a undercover cop. I can’t deal with people digging through my life and sharing it with everyone. What if they find out...” 

Bucky stops and drops his eyes, mentally face-palming himself. 

_Shit shit shit._

“Find out what?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.”

“Bucky, if there’s something you’re not telling me, and you think that’s the reason why this won’t work, I promise you, we can work through it. But I need for you to be honest with me. Whatever it is you’re afraid will come out, will probably come out anyway.”

The tightness in Bucky’s chest returns and his heartbeat begins to pound in his ears. He can’t breathe and has to bend over to suck in air.

He can sense Steve stepping closer and he knows what comes next. Steve will try to pry the truth out of him, and Bucky can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

“Are you alright?” Steve asks anxiously.

Taking a deep breath and focusing, Bucky straightens. “You have some nerve talking about being honest. I’m not the only one keeping secrets.”

Steve’s brow creases. “Huh?”

“All this time, you’ve been working on some non-profit thing with Stark and Wilson? When were you gonna tell me about it?”

Steve throws up his hands. “That was the surprise I was going to share with you. I was trying to keep it a secret until it was official. But when Tony’s legal team started looking into non-profit guidelines for providing resources for veterans with a criminal record, people started grumbling. Someone must have leaked it to the press.”

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. “And what are you gonna do if you can’t get it going?”

“We’re going to do it,” Steve replies. “We just need to iron out a few details. Why are you so upset about this? I would have thought you’d be happy about something that will help vets like Mikey.”

Bucky huffs. “Oh, cut the bullshit, Steve. This has nothing to do with Mikey! There was no reason for you to create a new nonprofit. You could have donated or helped with an established nonprofit. But no, no. You just had to go and create your own. That’s the best way to get publicity.”

“We’re back on that again?” Steve asks, his eyes reflecting surprise. “I thought we were past this.”

“Yeah, well, I thought so too,” Bucky says. “But then you brought Stark and Wilson into it, so now it’s just another Avengers’ PR stunt.”

The answering silence is louder than any retort Bucky expected. Steve’s studying Bucky’s face like he’s trying to solve a riddle. Bucky glares at him, but it begins to lose its edge. Despite all of his bravado, Bucky feels himself shrinking under Steve’s penetrating gaze.

Finally, Steve moves. He looks up at the ceiling and cracks a smile. It’s not a smile Bucky’s ever seen, though. It’s a little sad and a little dark. Intuitively, Bucky _knows_ this is it, the moment he’s been racing to reach since he saw his name trending. But he never expected Steve to look at him like this, and there’s a tight coil of dread knotting his stomach as he waits to hear what Steve’s about to say. 

“You know, you almost had me,” Steve says. “I almost fell for your bullshit again. Did you know I have an eidetic memory?”

Bucky shakes his head, trying to follow the thread.

“Well, I do. I remember every single conversation and fight we’ve had, word for word. Including the one we’re having now. And it just occurred to me that the first time I told you I wanted to date you, you said that a guy like me had too much money to be dating someone like you.” 

Steve shakes his head. “But you _have_ money, and a job. So now I’m thinking this is about something else. Every time I ask you about your past, your family, your job, _you_ …you find a way to change the subject, or you pick a fight. It’s really clever, the way you deflect.” 

His shoulders slump then, like he’s resigned to something, and Bucky tenses, bracing for it.

“I don’t really know who you are, Bucky. And...I’ve tried, but you obviously don’t want me to get that close. And I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of arguing. I care about you, but… it’s obvious you don’t want to be in a relationship. And I’m not the kind of guy that tries to convince people to be where they don’t want to be.”

Bucky’s mouth is dry and he feels like a statue as he watches Steve sigh deeply and take a step back, toward the door.

“I know you probably won’t take me up on it,” Steve says. “But if you or your friends ever need anything, you know how to get in touch.” 

The earnestness and pain in Steve’s eyes hurts like a hard punch. 

“And don’t worry, I’ll do my best to keep the press off of your back until things cool down. For what it’s worth, I’m really glad we met. Take care of yourself, Bucky.”

And then Steve turns around, opens Bucky’s door, and walks out. Bucky continues to stand in the same spot, listening to Steve’s heavy footsteps descend, and the creak of the metal door downstairs opening, and the bang of it closing.

Bucky stands, looking out his open door for several minutes before he finds the strength to move to close it.

“And that’s that,” he says to an empty apartment that now feels ten times emptier.

 

*

 

Bucky’s apartment becomes a makeshift fort. The blinds stay shut, the door remains locked and he rarely ventures outside. It’s cowardly, but necessary if he wants to avoid seeing the disappointed faces of his friends, or fielding questions from Darlene or David about his relationship with Steve. He’s definitely not ready to face judgement from those who once knew him as a struggling VA volunteer who champions veterans rights, and not as a computer engineer who is dating Captain America.

So he hides. 

If Bucky’s apartment is his fort, his bed is now mission control. From beneath fluffy covers that still smell like Steve, Bucky tries to find distraction in work. 

He deletes any shady emails from media outlets. Thankfully, his boss never brings it up, he just sends Bucky new clients. Bucky takes them all on, burying himself in the business of encryption and troubleshooting software bugs until the wee hours of the night.

He carries on like this for a few days, until a new email pops up from his mother. Bucky doesn’t open it and files it under _Family_ like he always does. When two more appear, from his sister and his father, he reconsiders whether to open them. His father rarely emails. It’s just not his thing, and it’s been almost six months since he last spoke to his dad. 

Bucky’s last contact with his family was a visit from his mother and Becca, over three months ago. They dropped by unannounced after Bucky dodged their requests. It ended with his sister quite angry and his mother in tears.

“Fuck it,” Bucky mutters, opening the email from his father. 

_Bucky,_

_Not sure if you are reading emails from the family, but it can’t hurt to try. I miss you. I just want you to know that. We all do. I saw you on TV the other day, well it was an old picture of you. I know you have your reasons for staying away, but I want you to know that I’m proud of you. Not because of anything you did or who you are dating, but because you’re my son. You have the home number right? Just in case you don’t, here it is again along with my cell phone number._

_Home- 718-855-6890  
Cell - 718-855-5673_

_Call anytime._

_Love,_

_Dad_

 

Bucky closes his laptop then. He doesn’t even need to read the emails from his mother and sister. He already knows that his mother’s email is a more angsty version of his father’s, and Becca’s is more angry.

Something wet lands on the sleek laptop cover and that’s when Bucky feels the tears on his face. He sniffles and takes a harsh swipe at his cheeks, while reciting old standby reasons for not calling his family.

_I’m not the person they remember_

_They will be disappointed_

_I’m a disaster and would just be a burden_

Even as he repeats these things, he knows their usefulness has seen better days. Since Steve called him out during their breakup, it’s grown harder to ignore the real reason Bucky’s been avoiding his family. 

A loud knocking at the door makes his heart stop for a moment. He tries to push down the momentary well of hope that perhaps it’s Steve. 

As much shit as he gave Steve about having a savior complex, right now Bucky wouldn’t mind Steve trying.

“Bucky! We know you’re in there!” It’s Sterling. “Come on, man, you can only avoid us for so long.”

Bucky stares at the door and pulls up the covers, sinking down into the mattress as if it’ll help him disappear. 

“We ain’t mad at you.” That’s Mikey. “Matter of fact, we miss your resting bitch face, man. Stop playing hide-n-seek with us.”

Bucky swallows and pulls the covers up higher. He hears Mikey’s exaggerated sigh and whispering. 

“Look, Bucky, we know you,” Sterling says. “You’re laying around, moping, and eating Oodles of Noodles.”

“You probably stink, too,” Mikey chimes in. “And you got Bobby all worked up and worried. You know how emotional he gets. He’s crying over you and shit.”

“So here’s what’s gonna happen,” Sterling says using his drill sergeant voice. Bucky’s only heard him use it on younger kids doing stupid shit around the neighborhood. “First you’re gonna get your punk ass out of bed, next you’re gonna clean up, and then you’re gonna come down and talk to us like a grown ass man.”

Suddenly Bucky feels every bit as young and dumb as the kids Sterling reserves that voice for, and he throws off the covers and sits up. He scrubs his flesh hand through his greasy hair and grimaces. 

“Okay! Give me a few minutes, alright?” he yells.

“Alright!” Sterling calls in what sounds like a warning. It probably is.

Bucky flops back down onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He can’t stay inside of his apartment forever hiding from the world, hiding from his friends, hiding from his past. 

A familiar memory flashes behind his eyes and he welcomes the wave of guilt that always follows. He nods to himself. If he tells his friends the full story, and they decide they don’t want to talk to him anymore, then that’s what he deserves. He’s been running from proper penance too long, trying to serve justice to himself. But it doesn’t work like that, and now it’s time for him to stand and be judged.

He exhales, resolute in what he must do. Finally climbing out of bed, he makes his way to the bathroom to take a long hot shower before going downstairs to face his friends. 

*

Stepping outside, into the light of day, should feel refreshing after being holed up inside, but Bucky is too nervous to enjoy it.

As soon as he steps out of the building, his eyes land on Bobby. His wheelchair is facing the door, like he was just waiting. Bobby’s entire face lights up and Bucky feels a strange, bitter relief to see that smile. He’s not sure if he’ll ever see it directed at him again.

Sterling has his arms folded over his chest like he’s so done with Bucky’s shit, while Mikey takes a long drag of his cigarette.

“About fucking time, kid,” Bobby says, wheeling closer to meet Bucky. “Had me worried sick. Now bring it in.”

Bucky gives Bobby a grateful smile and leans over to wrap his arms around Bobby’s shoulders. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you, Bobby.”

“Don’t you ever pull that shit again, you hear me?” Bobby chastises.

Bucky nods, glancing up at Mikey and Sterling.

“So what’s the deal? Give it to us straight this time,” Sterling says.

Straightening, Bucky shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweat jacket and closes his eyes. “I’m a con.”

“What?” Mikey asks. 

Bucky exhales and just plows through. “I should have been court-martialed. Instead, I got an “Honorable” discharge. My arm, my housing, my fucking job--it’s all because of a lie. And the worst part is, the government….” Bucky actually laughs then, because he really is taking advantage of the same government he rails against in protests. But the thought of where he really should be, and what it cost to be here, kills his laughter. 

“The government actually thinks I’m some sort of hero. They even gave me a commendation medal. But I should be in jail.”

“What are you talking about?” Bobby demands. “Did you do something?”

Bucky nods, trying to push the words out, but they’re stubborn and cling to his tongue.

“Bucky, man,” Mikey says, dropping his cigarette and walking up to him. He squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. “Whatever it is you think you did wrong, it don’t matter to us. We’re your friends.”

“I…” Bucky croaks, and pauses, looking from Mikey’s face down to Bobby, who wheels himself closer to fill in the gap between him and Mikey. Sterling moves in as well, closing the circle. Bucky’s insides are shaking and he knows he’s on the verge of losing his composure. 

“Listen, kid,” Bobby says. “And listen good. Whatever you’re blaming yourself for, I can promise you it doesn’t define who you are. Now, I’m a good judge of character, and whether you believe it or not, I know you’re a good person, Bucky. And there’s nothing that’s gonna change my mind about that.”

Bucky can’t even look at Bobby as a sob wells up in his chest and threatens to break free from his throat. Sterling seems to sense it and reaches out to place a hand on Bucky’s left shoulder, while Bobby reaches up to slip his hand into Bucky’s. They’re all touching him now, and it’s more than he ever thought he’d get from them. It’s more than he deserves. 

They deserve to know. They deserve to choose who they will associate with, and not telling them robs them of that choice.

“I...I killed someone,” Bucky whispers before he loses his nerve.

Mikey’s grip on Bucky’s shoulder tightens and Bobby squeezes his hand. “Overseas?”

Bucky nods. 

“I hate to break it you, buddy, but that’s what they train us for,” Sterling says, half-chuckling in his best attempt to inject humor.

It falls flat as a real sob rattles through Bucky’s chest. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Sterling says anxiously. “Who was it? A civilian?”

Bucky shakes his head and Mikey leans in and squeezes his shoulder again. “One of your own?”

Another sob lodges itself in Bucky’s throat as he jerkily nods.

“Ah sheesh, that’s tough,” Bobby says, still holding Bucky’s hand tight. “You can’t blame yourself for that, kid. It happens all the time.”

“He’s right,” Sterling says, his voice is unusually gentle. “Seen enough of it to know it’s more common than they talk about. It’s a messed up situation for everyone involved, but you’re not a bad person, Bucky.”

“You wanna go inside and talk about it?” Mikey offers.

That’s a nice idea. It really is, but Bucky can barely look at any of them, let alone form words to describe what he did. He’s already feeling raw. Talking more about it may rip him in places he can’t stitch back together. He can’t do that, not out here where anyone could see. Plus, saying the little bit he did felt like taking the first steps up Mt. Everest.

“Not today...maybe some other time. I can’t...I can’t...”

“It okay, you’ve said enough,” Bobby says quickly. 

They all give him reassuring nods.

“You’ve never told anyone before?” Mikey asks carefully.

Bucky shakes his head slowly, lifting up his eyes to finally meet Mikey’s. “No. The only people who know are my commanding officer, and the higher ups. And they covered it up. The official paperwork says that he was…he was killed by an enemy combatant. But I know that’s not true.”

His last statement hangs in the air like a dark cloud. Bucky still feels a tension pulling at him as he waits for a word or sign that his friends have changed their mind. That they really can’t stomach what he did and want nothing more to do with him.

But instead, Bobby gives a great sigh and squeezes Bucky’s hand one last time. “I know this is messing with your head, kid, but it doesn’t change anything between us, you understand?”

“That goes double for me,” Mikey says. “I still love your temperamental ass.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh. It’s really a wet half-sob, but Mikey’s infectious smile and teasing are like a balm.

“You know we’re always here for you,” Sterling says, leaning in to give Bucky a quick hug and firm pat on the back. 

“Thanks, guys,” Bucky says, ducking his head as they give him a little space to wipe his eyes and gain his composure.

“Does Steve know?” Bobby asks suddenly.

Bucky’s eyes fall to the pavement. “No…I couldn’t tell him. And anyway, we, um…we broke up.”

“Ah shit, man,” Mikey laments. “Why?”

“I dunno. I mean, okay, I do know,” Bucky sighs. “He said I deflect anytime he tries to get to know me.”

“He ain’t lyin’,” Mikey says, throwing up his hands in a ‘no offense’ gesture. “You do be keeping secrets, Bucky. When we first met, I thought you were a NARC.”

Sterling laughs. “I remember that! Both me and Bobby were looking for signs that you were a cop because Mikey said you were undercover.”

Bucky actually laughs. “Ah, come on, I’m not that secretive.”

“You kinda are,” Bobby says, squinting up at him. “You’d make a good spy.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah well, I’m not a spy, or a NARC. I’m just...this shit is hard to talk about.”

“Yeah, we know,” Sterling says. “Which is why you’re going to start working on it in group, right?”

Bucky grumbles under his breath.

“What’s that?” Bobby asks sharply. “I don’t wanna hear any more lectures from you about going to the doctor.” 

“Only I _do_ go to group, Bobby,” Bucky argues. “But you don’t go to the doctor.”

“It don’t matter if you go to group if you’re not using it,” Bobby counters. “You’ve been in group all year and this is the first time you’ve talked about it. What are you doing there? Going through the motions. Don’t talk to me about using my benefits, when you ain’t really making use of yours.”

Sometimes there’s no way to win an argument with Bobby, especially when he’s right. 

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says, to appease Bobby before he really gets going.

“Good,” Bobby says. “Maybe if you work it out there, you’ll be able to talk to Steve about it.”

Bobby may as well have said he could still find a diamond he’d carelessly left behind at a bar. There was no possible recovery. Guys like Steve are a once in a lifetime chance, and Bucky blew it. 

But he’s too tired to argue, so he just sighs and says, “Yeah, maybe.”

Regardless of his huge fuckup with Steve, after talking to his friends, Bucky feels a bit freer, like the albatross around his neck has been loosened. It’s still there, but it’s not cutting into his skin as much. 

There’s a curious twinkle in Mikey’s eyes, like he wants to say something. 

“What?” Bucky asks cautiously.

“So,” Mikey says, glancing to the other two. “You get a steady paycheck?”

Bucky groans and looks up at the clear blue sky while his friends snicker. “Yeah.”

“Damn, man,” Sterling says. “You know with the money you’re making, you could get a nice place in Park Slope or Brooklyn Heights.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t wanna live there. I like it here.”

They all look back at him like he’s lost his mind. 

Bobby frowns. “Maybe you just feel like you don’t deserve to live anywhere else.”

“What are you, my therapist now?” Bucky snaps.

“I’m gonna keep it real with you, Bucky,” Mikey says. “I don’t understand why you’d want to live here. Maybe you really do love roaches and the smell of piss. That’s cool, man. I ain’t judging. But here’s the thing, now that it’s out that you’re dating Steve, _and_ you’re making good money, you can’t stay here. Somebody is gonna test you. And you don’t want those problems.”

Just the thought--of someone trying to rob or fuck with Bucky because of his job or association with Steve--makes Bucky see red. He almost _hopes_ the asshats who want a piece of him come and find him. 

“I ain’t leaving,” Bucky says defiantly. “This is my block, this is my building, and my apartment and stuff are here. If any of you have a problem with me staying, speak up now.”

His friends all exchange an ‘oh boy’ look.

Mikey shrugs. “Yo, you’re a crazy motherfucker, but you my boy…I’m glad you’re gonna stick around.”

Sterling shakes his head. “I ain’t complaining about you staying, man. I just hope you change your mind. It’d be nice to have a better neighborhood to visit.”

“With better food,” Mikey adds.

Sterling and Bobby nod in agreement.

“Speaking of food,” Bobby says. “It’s Friday.”

They all look at each other and smile. 

“Hot lunches at Plymouth?” Bucky asks.

“Let’s do it!” Mikey says.

They all head to the church two blocks over.

 

*

 

It’s impossible to figure out who talked and what was said, but someone said _something_ , because when Bucky goes to the VA on Monday, Darlene and David greet him like everything’s normal.

There are no questions about Steve or Bucky’s real job. Darlene even gives him a friendly scolding about being late. Nothing’s changed and Bucky is so grateful for whatever private conversation led to this treatment.

The next day when group meets, Bucky attends like always. He takes his usual seat in the back, only this time there’s a knot in his stomach and he keeps checking the clock as people walk in and fill the seats. Bucky stayed up all night, debating about whether this was the place to start talking about the thing. 

He has benefits, both through his job _and_ the VA, so he can easily find a private therapist. But just the thought of shopping around for a complete stranger to bare his soul to makes Bucky want to stop before he even starts. 

Group is steady and familiar. The group’s facilitator, Bob, is everyone’s favorite uncle. With his balding hair, bushy beard, and kind eyes, he’s like a rugged Santa Claus. Bob’s easy, laid-back style and frank advice makes everyone feel safe, at home. 

Bucky’s been coming to Bob’s facilitated trauma group meetings consistently for nearly a year. He doesn’t talk much, but everyone there knows him. And more importantly, he knows all of them. In all of Bucky’s time there, he’s never heard anyone gossip outside of group, and when group is over, everyone treats each other the same way they did before they came in. 

If there’s anywhere he can start talking about his feelings, it’s group.

So he waits, and listens as Bob asks if anyone wants to talk today.

Bucky looks around, waiting for someone to jump in first. But it’s like the universe and his friends are in cahoots; nothing but silence follows after Bob’s invitation.

With his nails digging into his palms, Bucky clears his throat to get the room’s attention.

“Bucky?” Bob calls. “Did you want to say something?”

All eyes turn to him, some reflecting surprise. Bob’s welcoming face is the easiest thing to focus on. Bucky lets the rest of the room disappear and starts talking to Bob like they’re the only two people there. 

“I do.”

“That’s great, Bucky,” Bob says with a small smile. “I’m so glad to hear that. Any time you’re ready to talk, the floor’s yours.” 

Bucky nods and chews on his bottom lip as he tries to sort through what he wants to say. A familiar face flashes in his mind, and with it a wave of sick regret.

“I uh...I messed up,” he says in a shaky voice. “I messed up bad.”

Bucky leans over, nausea overwhelming him as the face that haunts him most nights continues to dance behind his eyes. There’s so much that needs to be said, and most of it can’t be shared here in trauma group. They have a rule about discussing details. But it’s the details of what he did that eat away at his conscience.

“I was responsible for someone and... I really let them down,” he gets out, trying to push back a sob. “And I can’t ever make it up to them. Ever.”

“Bucky, I’m very sorry that happened to you,” Bob says in that sickening, placating voice. “We’ve talked about guilt before. How it can turn into self-loathing and self-hate. So I’m really glad you’re taking the first step by processing how you’re feeling. That takes a lot of guts.”

A spike of anger, unexpected and volatile, rushes through Bucky to hear such praise. It reminds Bucky of the commendation medal. “Why are you praising me? You don’t even know what I did!”

Bob cocks his head. “You're right, I don't. Unfortunately, you can't change the past. All you can do is try to work through your guilt in the present so that you can begin to heal.”

Frustration and the urge to scream compels Bucky to stand up. “You don’t get it. I really fucked up! I did something terrible, and you’re sitting there patting me on the back, like talking about how bad I feel changes anything!”

Bob takes a visible breath. “Bucky, please, sit down. Let me clarify. I understand talking about your feelings doesn’t change what happened. But I want you to know that I appreciate the courage it took for you to talk today.”

His anger bubbling over, Bucky shouts, “It’s wrong!” 

“I know it’s hard, and it sounds like you are dealing with a lot of guilt. That’s very common, and it’s not going to be easy to work through.”

Bucky chuckles, and it sounds harsh and dark even to his own ears. “Guilt doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m dealing with. I shouldn’t be here! And you're trying to tell me that it's alright. That I should be _healing_? Well, it's not alright, and I sure as fuck don't deserve to heal.”

Suddenly the room feels too small, too confining. The truth of what he did, and the futility of talking here, where he can’t really confess his sins, is stifling. He can’t purge or take in air. He has go. 

Bob’s calling his name, but Bucky’s already out the door, running. 

*

He loses time, then, and somehow ends up staring out to where the Manhattan skyline meets the East River. He’s on the Brooklyn Promenade but he doesn’t remember running here. The only thing he can remember right now is yelling at Bob in group. What the fuck was he thinking?

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He’d practiced out what he was going to say, and vowed to stay calm when he spoke about it, but that’s not how it went down.

Bucky runs both hands up his face to brush away the crust of dried tears. With clear eyes, he takes in the skyscrapers of the city across the river, and searches for the big ‘STARK’ sign. From this vantage, its logo is half hidden by the 432 Park Avenue building. He wonders if Steve is there today, or if he’s at home.

Turning to look behind him, Bucky thinks about how close Steve’s brownstone is, just two blocks away. It may as well be in Jersey now, the gulf between them is too wide.

With a deep sigh, Bucky turns to find his way back out of the park.

*

On the walk home, Bucky’s embarrassment about what happened in group morphs into shame. Bob was just trying to help; that’s his job. And Bucky volunteered to talk, and when Bob tried to affirm him, Bucky responded by yelling. He’s not sure how he will ever be able to show his face at the VA again. He certainly can’t lead protests. How can he rail on about access to VA benefits when he can’t even properly use what’s available? By the time Bucky reaches the corner of his block, he feels like a total failure. 

He takes slow steps down the sidewalk leading to his building, trying to figure out how he’s going to avoid questions from his friends. Even though no one discusses what happens in group, Bucky made a scene storming out the way he did. He’s sure it’s probably circulating. 

Maybe moving away is a good idea. Somewhere like Queens, where there are hardly any bus or subway lines. He won’t have to see the faces of everyone he’s let down.

As he nears his building, the dread of facing his friends turns into panic. 

There are four people standing in the courtyard. One of them is a lot bigger than the other three and he has golden blonde hair. 

Bucky closes his eyes and whines. The universe hates him. Of all the days for Steve to drop by, this was the worst.

He walks on stiffly, his mind racing. Should he say hi and pretend like nothing happened? He doesn’t think he has the energy for putting on an act. But if he runs up to his apartment, ignoring them all, it will make him look petty, like he’s holding a grudge. And he’s not. Bucky completely understands why Steve dumped him. He fucked up and doesn’t deserve someone so good and earnest. He doesn’t even deserve the unwavering support of his friends.

He’s a lying murderer. 

As he gets closer, he sees that they’re all laughing and talking, like everything is great. Like life is just full of sunshine and rainbows, and people don’t go to war and get blown up or killed by their squad leader. Angry tears begin to well in his eyes, and Bucky can’t even be bothered to wipe them away as he glares at the way Bobby is looking up at Steve.

Bobby, with his two missing legs and a twisted spine, is chuckling along with Mikey. Fucking Mikey, who doesn’t have a pot to piss in, and can’t find a job to save his life. Even if he did, he’d have to explain why he needs a quiet room for the panic attacks, that he tries to ward off with drugs. And Sterling is standing there, smiling along like he’ll remember half the shit Steve says. Sterling, who sometimes can’t remember the reason he can’t remember. Maybe that’s why he’s so damn happy, because he can’t remember why he shouldn’t be. 

“Bucky? Hey, what’s wrong?” Bobby’s asking.

“Bucky!” Mikey calls.

Bucky can barely make them out through the blur of his tears. He’s fucking crying, in front of Steve and the guys, out in public. 

What a shitshow.

Rushing past all of them, he quickly makes his way into the building, taking the stairs two by two until he reaches his apartment. He has to fumble with the keys a few times before he finally unlocks his door. He closes it and locks it and slides down the door, silently weeping.

A knock on his door startles him. 

“Bucky?” Steve calls.

Oh, great. His perfect ex-boyfriend is being perfect again, and it only reminds Bucky of what a disaster he is. The waterworks really start then. Bucky is aware that some type of valve that’s been stuck has suddenly been loosened, and he can’t seem to stop the tears from falling. 

“I just wanted to make sure you’re alright,” Steve says cautiously. “You looked pretty upset. If there’s anything I can--”

“Why are you here?” Bucky blurts out.

“I swear, I wasn’t following you or trying to impose. I was on my way to volunteer, and I knew you were in group, so I thought it would be a good time to visit the fellas,” Steve says nervously. “I really like your friends, and they told me not to be a stranger just because you and I are no longer dating.”

“Figures,” Bucky mutters.

“Bucky, can I...can I come in?”

Bucky shakes his head. He’s a fucking mess, but it doesn’t matter any more. He’s leaving this place tonight, and maybe this will be the last time he sees Steve. A self-loathing voice tells him that it would be the perfect send off, for his perfect ex-boyfriend to see just what a fuck up he is.

He clammers up to stand, and opens the door, staring at Steve plainly, wrecked face on full display

Steve’s face falls. There’s so much concern and pity there it makes Bucky want to hide. Instead, he backs up and lets Steve walk inside.

“What happened?” Steve asks. “Is this about us? Or did something happen in group?”

“Yeah.”

Steve frowns. “Which one?”

Bucky huffs. “It’s all the same. I deflect. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

Steve doesn’t nod or agree, he just keeps staring.

“Well, you were right,” Bucky sighs. “I’ve been keeping this shit inside so long, I don’t know how to talk about it.”

When Steve moves a little closer, the waterworks start again, and Bucky doesn’t even try to wipe his face.

“Talk about what, Bucky?” Steve asks gently.

Bucky throws up his hands. “The reason why I don’t deserve to spend the money I make. I don’t even deserve my fucking job. I don’t know why they chose me for that veterans cybersecurity training program. I’m not any smarter or better than half the guys who get discharged. But I’m making six figures.” He’s out of breath, and tears and snot are dripping from his chin.

“Oh yeah, and I got a free cybernetic arm. I don’t even know who recommended me for that special prosthetics program. But they gave me an arm worth 200K. Probably because the Army gave me a commendation medal that I didn’t even fucking earn. I should be jail! And what do they do? They reward me again and again.”

Steve takes slow, careful steps towards him, and Bucky doesn’t even try to back up. He looks around, taking in the cracked walls and dirty window of his apartment, and a wet laugh escapes him.

“You wanna know why I live like this? Because the government won’t hold me accountable for what I did. So I have to do it myself. I killed a man, Steve.”

A pained expression shadows Steve’s face. Bucky barrels on.

“His name was Private William K. Forest. We called him Bill. He was a kid, 19 years old, from Kansas City, Missouri. He loved Metallica and basketball, and he planned to go to college after his service was up.”

Steve covers his mouth and then moves quickly to close the distance between them. Bucky doesn’t try to fight him off as Steve holds him tight against his chest. Steve’s arms feel just as strong and impenetrable as his shield, and there’s a safety being inside of them.

“I was his squad leader. He depended on me. We were supposed to be clearing a house occupied by an insurgent making bombs. We had a game plan. We’d gone over it before, but this time, it was really dark, and… when we went in, there were more of them than we thought, and shit just fell apart. Those damn night vision goggles don’t really do shit when there’s crossfire. All I saw was a bunch of flashes, like firecrackers. And it was coming from all directions.”

He buries his face into Steve’s shoulder and digs his nails into Steve’s back. Steve waits him out, never pushes or says anything.

Bucky takes a shaky breath and forces himself to continue. “I told my privates, before we went in, especially the newbies, to stay close. But Bill.... I think he panicked or something because he just started running and firing. He crossed right in front of me while I was shooting. He wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Even as he finishes, Bucky can still hear his screams and smell of gunfire and blood. He can see the gaping hole in Bill’s neck and the sound he made choking on his own blood as Bucky held him in his final moments. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, over and over, just the way he did that night.

Then Bucky feels Steve folding his head down until his nose is brushing Bucky’s scalp. The memory temporarily fades, and all that is left is the heavy feeling of guilt and shame.

“I should have got court-martialed or _something_ ,” Bucky says. “But the military covered it up.”

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” Steve whispers, holding him tighter. 

It’s crazy that Steve hasn’t let go of him, that he’s still holding on after a confession like that. Bucky’s sobs grow louder. Why isn’t anyone mad at him?

He claws at Steve’s back, desperate to provoke some sort of retribution, but Steve only squeezes tighter. Something breaks inside of Bucky then, and his entire body just collapses like dead weight. Steve doesn’t even falter, he just picks up the slack and holds Bucky up. 

Words begin to spill out, things Bucky’s never admitted, not even to himself. He can’t stop them any more than he can stop the tears. 

“I tried to fool myself into thinking I could do right by him, living like this. I told myself donating most of my salary in his name would be a proper tribute, make amends for what I did. But that was stupid. Nothing I ever do will ever be enough to do right by him. He’s dead. Bill’s dead. And I killed him.”

Steve never says _it’s alright_ or _it’s okay_ or _don’t blame yourself_. He just keeps holding on. 

Bucky runs out of words, but he still has plenty of tears. He continues to cry against Steve’s chest until there are no more tears left. 

When he’s done, he’s almost afraid to look at Steve’s face. He prepares himself for pity and a look of secondhand shame, but he only finds sadness in those blue eyes.

Steve brushes a lock of Bucky’s hair back from his face, and it feels so kind and gentle, Bucky almost breaks again. But he doesn’t. 

A quiet resolve begins to grow inside of him. He’s done crying. It was selfish anyway. Bill is dead, and crying over him isn’t going to bring him back. All of this crying was for himself. Bucky forces himself to stand tall in Steve’s arms. 

“Christ, I’m sorry,” he says, pulling away. “I guess now you see why I don’t talk about myself.”

“I’m glad you did,” Steve says, slowly dropping his arms from around Bucky’s back. 

Bucky immediately misses the contact. It’d be nice to just fall against Steve again and ask him to hold him, but he’s not sure if he’s used up all of his “comfort the ex” points.

Steve looks just as unsure. “I meant it before, Bucky. If you ever need anything, you can call me. And, when you’re ready to talk some more, I’ll be here.”

Bucky chokes out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re fucking unreal, you know that? Who offers to listen to their ex’s problems?”

“Me,” Steve says. 

Shaking his head, Bucky runs his flesh hand over his messy hair. “I probably look like shit.”

Steve offers a little smile. “A little. But you’re still adorable.”

The compliment is surprising and pulls a snicker out of him. His heart is still heavy, but the albatross around his neck feels even looser than before. 

“Have you eaten?” Steve’s moving past him towards the kitchen area.

Bucky watches as he wets a paper towel and hands it to him. 

“No, not in awhile,” Bucky says, wiping his face. The damp paper towel is cold, but it feels good against Bucky’s warm skin. There was at least an hour’s worth of dried tears and snot smeared over his face.

Bucky balls up the towel and shoots it into the garbage can. “Thanks.”

Steve offers a small smile. “Chinese?”

“Are you offering?” Bucky asks with raised eyebrows. 

Steve shrugs. “Yeah.”

“You dumped me,” Bucky says skeptically because really, what is Steve doing?

Steve sighs. “You’re right. I probably should give you space. I’ll go.”

As he steps out of the kitchen, Bucky crosses to block him. “I didn’t say I wanted you to go.”

The way Steve’s searching his face is making Bucky’s heart beat just as hard is it did after his run to the promenade. He wonders if Steve can hear it; Bucky can hear it in his ears.

“What do you want, Bucky?” Steve frowns. “You’re sending me mixed signals again.”

“I want…” Bucky pauses, suddenly nervous.

Confessing what he really wants to Steve feels like standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon with a parasail on his back. He’s on the precipice of something magnificent and scary. He can either dive head first and trust Steve will catch him, or he can keep standing where he is…alone.

Bucky decides to inch his way towards whatever this is, and takes a step forward. He lifts his arms and wraps them around Steve’s broad shoulders. Steve’s face is a mixture of cautious hope and trepidation and his arms stay stiffly by his side, as if he’s afraid to touch. And that’s completely unacceptable.

“I want to start talking.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Steve’s lips, and Bucky feels encouraged. He moves in even closer and uses his metal hand to guide one of Steve’s hands around his waist.

Steve gets the hint quickly and wraps both of his arms around Bucky.

It feels good. It feels right. Bucky sighs. “I want to tell you about my super stupid easy job that pays way too much money.”

Steve smiles.

“And I want to tell you about my poetry,” Bucky says, his voice shaking. “Maybe read some of it to you. Especially the ones I’ve written about you.”

The blush that blooms on Steve’s cheeks is so fucking cute, Bucky wants to kiss him. But they’re probably not there yet. He isn’t sure really where they are, so he soldiers on. This is the hard part. 

“I want to tell you about my team in Bagram. All of them. Living and dead. And I want to tell you the story of how I lost my arm.”

Steve leans in until his forehead is pressing against Bucky’s and lets out a long sigh. It’s hard to maintain eye contact without going cross-eyed, so Bucky closes his eyes, enjoying the warm press of Steve’s skin against his.

“I want to tell you about my family,” he whispers. “My mom, my dad, my not-so-little-sister, Becca, who’s really, really mad at me right now.”

“I’d like that,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky sighs, “I guess what I’m saying is...I really want you to get to know me, Steve.”

“I want that too,” Steve breathes.

They stand there for a long minute, soaking in the moment, until Bucky pulls back slowly. “Okay. Then I’ll work on it. Starting tonight. I mean, if you want. You got out for a reason.”

“Oh, I’m staying,” Steve says, his eyes bright and watery looking. “If that’s okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” Bucky says, trying to control his smile. “Now, go get some Chinese. Pepper steak with an extra egg roll please.”

“You got it.” 

The smile Steve gives is so radiant, Bucky has to look away. 

The ever-present voice, telling him he doesn’t deserve someone like _this_ looking at him like _that_ , is still there. But tonight he’s gonna ignore that voice, and dive into something new. He may crash and burn, or end up learning how to fly. 

Either way, Bucky plans to step off the edge and just free fall. 

*

Between eating and watching TV, they spend all night talking. The topics vacillate between serious and silly, and Bucky still clams up about some things. 

But Steve keeps saying Rome wasn’t built in a day, and that this is far more conversation than they’ve had in the entire time they’ve known each other. 

They fall asleep, facing each other, just around dawn.

Steve’s phone buzzes several times, and Bucky nearly throws it across the room. But Steve picks it up in time and turns it off. When he scoots closer, Bucky moves to meet him in the middle.

The next time they wake up, it’s to loud knocking.

Steve jerks out of bed, fully alert even though his hair is sticking up every which way. 

“Who is it?” Bucky calls.

“Your friends, jackass!” Sterling says through the door. “We’re just checking to see if you two are still alive in there.”

Bucky groans and opens one eye. Steve is looking down at him with that goofy grin. 

“Are we alive?” Bucky asks.

“I think so,” Steve says, “But something must have crawled into your mouth and died last night.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bucky says, laughing and throwing a pillow at Steve’s head.

Steve smiles and blocks it. 

“They’re alive, Bobby,” Mikey calls. “I hear them in there laughing and shit.”

“Tell Bobby we’re fine and we’ll be down later,” Bucky calls.

“Yeah, okay. Does this mean you’re back together?” Mikey asks.

Bucky rolls his eyes and shouts. “None of your business, Mikey!” at the same time that Steve shouts “Yes!”

“Yes, Bobby, they’re back on!” Mikey calls. 

Bucky stares back at Steve as they listen to Mikey and Sterling retreating down the stairs. The metal door of the building slams, and Steve suddenly looks unsure. 

“I mean, if you want,” Steve says.

“If I want? You’re the one who dumped me,” Bucky says. “Are you saying you want to try again?”

Steve nods. “Yes. I’d like to date you. Maybe the boyfriend stuff was too much, too soon. You obviously have some things you need to sort out, but so do I. ”

“You do?” Bucky asks.

Steve’s fiddles with the covers anxiously. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, stuff you can’t read in a book. Maybe I’ve been a bit of a hypocrite. I’m not the most open person either. I think dating would be good for both of us.”

A woozy light feeling spreads through Bucky as he lets it sink in that he really has another chance with Steve. He shushes the cynical little voice saying cynical things, and beckons Steve closer with a curl of his finger. 

“Is that a yes?” Steve asks, half laughing as he leans in.

Bucky meets him halfway. 

“Yes,” he whispers against his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't leave it here, so there's an epilogue now. :)


	6. Epilogue- Feelin' Like a Ten, The Best I Ever Been

Steve finishes filing the latest intake forms and locks the filing cabinet before signing out for the last time. 

“Thanks, Steve,” Darlene says with a bittersweet smile. “Guess I won’t be seeing too much of you after today.”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t count on it. I’ll still drop by. This is still my favorite VA. And we’re partners now. It’s a good excuse to visit.”

Darlene's eyes light up. “Well then, I look forward to you visiting. What you and your friends are doing is really special. I’m so proud of you.”

Touched, Steve ducks his head and gives Darlene a hug. 

She swats at him, but her eyes are wet when she walks away. 

Steve takes one last look at the receptionist desk. It’s been his steady volunteer station for the last six months.

He’s not even going that far. The new Brooklyn branch of _Vetted_ , an outreach center for veterans who get discharged as anything other than ‘Honorable’, is about to open just a block away. 

It will be one of three outreach centers throughout New York City, funded by the new Veterans’ Support division of The Stark Foundation. _Vetted_ centers partner with local VAs, hospitals, social services, housing agencies, and job placement organizations to help newly discharged veterans transition back into civilian life and provide support for vets who have fallen through the cracks of the VA system. 

Steve is the head of the Brooklyn site’s Board of Directors, and for the past few months he’s been busy overseeing the hiring and training of over twenty new staff members. Their grand opening occurs in a week and there’s still a lot to do. 

As soon as Steve takes a seat in the center’s waiting room, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out and grins when he sees the name.

“Sam, what’s up?”

“Just checking in,” Sam says. “We still on?”

“Yep,” Steve says. “They’re pretty excited, so don’t be late.”

“Oh we won’t be. But uh, I hope you don’t mind, I went ahead and changed the reservations.”

Steve frowns. “Why? You don’t like the restaurant?”

“Nah, man. You know I love that place. We just have a few extra guests joining us.”

“Sam…”

“Hey, I tried,” Sam sighs. “That’s all I can say.”

Steve closes his eyes. “Alright. I’ll try to warn Bucky.”

“Please do,” Sam says. “I know how temperamental he can be, especially around Tony.”

“ _Tony’s_ coming!” Steve exclaims. “I thought you were talking about Clint, or maybe Thor, Jane, and Darcy.”

“Them too…pretty much everyone is coming now. Oh, look at the time, gotta go!”

“Sam!”

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks, startling Steve. 

“Uh, well,” says Steve. “It seems there’s been a slight change of plans. We’ll be dining with all of my teammates and some of their partners tonight.”

“Oh wow...wait, including Tony?” Bucky says, pulling a face. 

“You gotta give him a chance, Buck. He’ll grow on you,” Steve says, standing to greet his boyfriend. 

It’s best to change the subject for now. It’s gonna be a long night. He cups Bucky’s cheek and leans in to give him a soft sweet kiss on the lips.

Bucky hums, placated for the moment. 

His group must have just let out, because there’s a steady stream of people filing out of the room near the front desk.

Behind Bucky, the group’s facilitator, Bob, approaches. Steve gives him a smile. 

Bob extends his hand. “Captain Rogers…”

“I told you to call me ‘Steve’.”

Bob shakes his head. “Right, _Steve_. Listen, I told Bucky this, but I just wanted to personally thank you both for what you said last week in front of Congress. It meant a lot to me, and a lot of other people as well.”

Humbled, Steve can only nod and say, “It was a honor to speak on behalf of veterans.”

Bob nods. “So did you ever get around to checking out Rhonda’s new trauma group?”

“Uh…” Steve’s eyes dart to his Bucky, who’s looking at him expectantly. “Not yet, but I plan to.”

“First step is the hardest," Bob says with a knowing smile. " Rhonda’s really easy to talk to and the group is small, very low key. I don’t know if I told you, but they meet on Wednesdays.”

“Right, Wednesdays,” Steve says, scolding himself for skipping the last meeting. 

“I’ll keep working on him,” Bucky says, leaning into Steve.

Bob chuckles. “You do that.” He pats Bucky on the back. “Alright, I’ll see you next week, and don’t forget your assignment.”

“Geez, stop busting my balls," Bucky says, rolling his eyes. "I won’t forget.”

“I’m gonna ask you about it,” Bob says pointing at Bucky. 

“What was that about?” Steve asks as Bob walks away.

“He gave me homework,” Bucky sighs.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “What kind of homework?”

Bucky winces. “The kind that involves eating dinner with my family? He thinks I’ve taken it as far as I can with the phone calls. Says it’s time to step it up. Plus, my mom keeps bugging me about seeing where I live now and meeting you. But you don’t have to be involved if it’s too much. I can meet them at a restaurant or something.”

He looks nervous. 

Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s waist and pulls him in closer. “I really want to meet your family, Buck. Dinner at our place would be perfect.”

Exhaling in relief, Bucky’s eyes brighten. “Okay, good. I was thinking next Thursday, I mean, if you’re not busy.”

“I’ll make sure I’m not,” Steve says. 

Bucky gives him a sweet kiss and then pulls back. “So where’s this thing tonight? The guys have been on my ass about it nonstop since you mentioned it.”

“Midtown,” Steve says, taking Bucky’s hand as they walk out. “I was thinking we could maybe take them by the Tower afterwards for a tour. Think they’d go for it?” 

Bucky chuckles. “Are you kidding? They’re gonna lose their shit.”

As they approach Bucky’s old building, they see Mikey, Sterling, and Bobby standing near the courtyard, watching them. They’re all facing the thorough street, like they’ve been waiting. Mikey looks handsome freshly shaved, Bobby’s wearing a new shirt Steve’s never seen before, and Sterling looks spiffy with his short sleeved white oxford and tie. 

Mikey hits Bobby’s arm several times as Bucky and Steve get closer. Bobby pushes Mikey back and shakes his head, but there’s a huge smile on his face.

“Look who it is!” Mikey calls. “Steve and Bucky sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-”

“Mikey!” Bobby scolds.

Steve glances around, his face growing warm as Bucky laughs.

“You can’t be doing stupid shit like that tonight,” Bobby says. “We have to act dignified. We’re dining with very important people.”

Bucky scoffs. “Bobby, you’re giving these guys too much credit. They eat, drink and shit just like the rest of us. They’re human.”

“Well…” Steve starts.

“Okay, except for maybe Thor,” Bucky says. “And sometimes Banner...oh, and Vision. Huh... does Vision shit?”

Steve pinches his nose. “Bucky…”

“I’m just kidding, geez, take that stick out of your ass, Steve. I’m not gonna put up with your Captain America schtick tonight, alright, pal?”

Steve smiles tightly and uses his most patient voice. “It’s not a schtick, Bucky. Boundaries are healthy. I work with these people; they don’t need to know everything about me.”

“Is that code for don’t talk about sex around your teammates?” Bucky asks.

“Yes,” Steve hisses. “You remember what happened last time?”

Bucky flashes a mischievous smile. Steve’s in trouble. 

“Do we have to separate you two at dinner?” Sterling teases. 

Steve points. “He started it.”

“God, you’re a little shit,” Bucky complains.

“Hey, Steve,” Bobby says. “My buddy Frank said there’s a rumor they’re retiring Captain America recruitment posters. Is that true?”

Steve tries not to look as happy as he feels. “Yeah, it took a bit of pressure, and maybe a threat or two, but they’re finally getting rid of those.”

Bobby sighs. “I really liked those posters, but I get why you’d want them taken down.” 

“I'm glad you understand, Bobby,” Steve says. “So how’s the new place?”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “It’s fine when my _roommates_ clean up after themselves.”

“You’re a neat freak, Bobby," Mikey argues. "It’s an apartment, not a museum. Besides, we clean up.”

“Only when you have a date,” Bobby mutters.

“That’s true, Mikey,” Sterling says. “You only straighten up when you think you’re gonna get some. I, on the other hand, wash dishes regularly.”

“By regularly, he means once a week,” Bobby says. 

“Look!” Mikey points.

Two large black speciality Suburban trucks with tinted windows approach, and everyone watches as they park by curb. 

Sterling gives a long, low whistle. “Damn, SHIELD’s got style.”

The passenger door of the first truck opens and Natasha steps out. Mikey literally gasps.

“Oh! That’s…that’s…”

Natasha holds out her hand. Mikey’s freezes, staring at her in shock. But Sterling has no problem stepping in to take her hand. 

“Ms. Romanov, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, kissing her hand. 

Both Steve and Bucky exchange an impressed glance.

Natasha smiles. “The pleasure’s all mine, Corporal Knight.”

Sterling’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “You know my rank and name?”

She smirks. “One of your best friends lives with an Avenger. Yes. I know who you are.”

It impossible to tell whether that was an explanation or a threat. Steve thinks it was a bit of both, which is probably why Sterling steps back a little.

Sam hops out of the second truck and Mikey actually makes a whooping sound. “Oh, snap! The Falcon!”

“Mikey, you act like you didn’t know they were coming,” Bucky teases.

“I mean I did, but they’re actually _here_! And…Mr. Wilson, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, shaking his hand. “The honor is all mine, Sergeant Henderson.” 

Mikey turns to Bucky and mouths _wow_!. “He knows my name and rank!”

Bucky chuckles.

Steve’s pride and affection for his teammates swells as he watches them greet Bucky’s friends with the type of respect they deserve.

Bobby has a glassy-eyed look that’s threatening to choke Steve up. He clears his throat. “We really should be going. Reservations are at 6:00pm sharp.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Like they won’t hold it for us.”

The driver of the second car hops out and opens the side door. Bobby’s mouth drops open when the driver rolls out a wheelchair-accessible ramp.

“Oh, man,” Bobby says as he wheels himself up into the truck. “You guys are gonna ruin the bus for me. This is how I should be getting around.”

Everyone laughs and loads into the trucks. Bobby and Sterling ride with Sam in the second truck, and Steve and Bucky decide to ride in the first truck with Mikey and Natasha.

Before Steve climbs into the backseat with Bucky, Natasha grabs his arm.

“What?” he asks.

She looks back into the truck where Mikey is introducing himself to the driver. 

“You sure they’re ready for this?” she asks.

Steve smiles. "Oh, they're ready. I just hope you guys are ready for them."

 

*

Steve is exhausted. He spent the entire night keeping an eye on the interplay between his teammates and Bucky’s friends. He also had to play mediator between Tony and Bucky, even as Bucky continually tried to stir up shit by dropping sexual innuendo.

Despite all of that, overall, dinner was a success. Perhaps a little _too_ successful. Promises were made to bring the guys back, and Steve could see the beginnings of an unholy alliance between Mikey, Clint, and Natasha. 

“My God, what have I done?” he says to Bucky in the back seat of the town car taking them home.

Bucky chuckles. “Hey, I told you they’d get along with your team like a house on fire. I mean, except for Tony.”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “Tony and Bobby seemed to have a connection.”

“Probably because Bobby was kissing his ass. Sometimes I wanna punch that guy.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? I mean that is how _we_ started.”

Bucky shoves his shoulder against Steve. “No! I would never.”

Steve hums. “Uh-huh, well just in case, I plan to keep you two as far apart as possible.”

“I’ll do that myself,” Bucky says, before leaning over to nibble on Steve’s ear.

A shiver cascades through Steve and he glances up at the driver to make sure his eyes are on the road and not on them. Just in case, he hits the partition button.

“Ooo, in the car, Captain?” Bucky asks with a salacious leer, his flesh hand moving up Steve’s thigh.

“Stop,” Steve says, smiling.

“You’re the one rolling up the partition, Stevie. What’s the matter? Don’t want the driver to see me on my knees,” Bucky says, doing a sexy body roll that makes Steve’s dick move.

Steve thinks perhaps Bucky just made a pop culture reference, but he’s not sure, and he’s not gonna call attention to it.

When Bucky’s hand slides even farther up, coming close to grazing Steve’s balls, he pushes it off. 

“Not in the car,” Steve says. “I put the partition up because you’re getting handsy, and I don’t want an audience.”

“Don’t knock until you try it,” Bucky says, licking his lips.

Steve gapes back at his boyfriend. “And you call _me_ deviant?”

The sound of Bucky’s metal hand whirring makes Steve’s eyes flutter. He looks away and shifts a little in his seat.

“Oh you’re definitely deviant,” Bucky says, grabbing Steve’s crotch with his metal hand.

“Bucky!” Steve gasps.

“Yes, Stevie?”

“We’re almost home…just, please…”

Bucky gives a great sigh and removes both of his hands. “Fine.”

The loss of Bucky’s hands on him almost drives Steve to say ‘fuck it’, but he’s a big boy, and he can wait five minutes. Although, the town car does feel like it’s moving awfully slow. 

“Oh, I love this song!” Bucky blurts out. He turns up the volume of the radio.

Steve smiles as a woman’s raspy voice fills the car and Bucky begins singing along. Steve’s heard him sing this one before; Bucky frequently cleans to 80s music.

It’s fun watching him dance in his seat, his eyes bright. Bucky’s come a long way, and it fills Steve with so much love and pride to see his boyfriend so happy. 

As they step out of the car, Bucky grabs Steve’s hand, still humming the melody of the song. Steve unlocks the door to their brownstone and laughs when Bucky hurries him inside and pushes him against the wall.

“Oh, so you want it rough tonight?” Steve asks, smiling against Bucky’s lips.

“No, just really need to kiss you,” Bucky whispers before diving in to give Steve another hot open mouth kiss.

When he breaks for air, Bucky smiles up at Steve like he’s drunk. Steve knows for a fact Bucky didn’t drink one drop of liquor tonight. To be looked upon like that is at once both incredibly empowering and humbling.

Bucky starts humming that same melody again and whispers, “To the end of the line.”

“What?” Steve asks.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “The song.” He starts singing softly, “‘Cause we’ll never be wrong together. We can take it to the end of the line...That’s us. That’s what I want.”

“To the end of the line,” Steve repeats, caressing a lock of Bucky’s hair away from his face. 

Bucky smiles and leans in to rub his forehead against Steve’s. “Now take me upstairs and make love to me.”

“Now who’s the sap?” Steve asks, grinning.

“Shut up, asshole,” says Bucky fondly. “You’re ruining my moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give out virtual cookies to anyone who can name the 80's song Bucky sings in this chapter :)
> 
> Thank you for all of the awesome comments and kudos. This has been a blast for me to write. And shit, I had to delete the original epilogue posted this morning, so I accidentally deleted twelve wonderful comments. I'm gonna screenshot, post, and respond to y'all anyway because it's important to me. I'm so sorry for being technologically goofy! 
> 
> For more information on how to volunteer or donate to U.S. VAs, please check out their [volunteer page](https://www.volunteer.va.gov). Additionally, there are many non-profit organizations [dedicated to supporting U.S. veterans that accept donations.](https://www.charitynavigator.org/index.cfm?bay=content.view&cpid=531)


End file.
